Cloak of the Dead
by A Wordsmith
Summary: Harry Potter receives the Cloak of Invisibility his first year, and everything is not how it seems. Death sinks into his magic and by the time summer rolls around, he has changed - and for the better.
1. Year One

He wakes up like any other morning, bleary-eyed and still sleepy. But Ron is already cheering and shaking his shoulders and when he finally pops his eyes open, he looks down to the foot of his bed and sees a small pile of brightly colored packages drenched in long streamers of every color.

Presents. He actually has presents. Actual presents that look like more than just an old sock.

A flute he cradles happily and plays a few soft notes on, the piping sound similar to Hedwig. Hagrid is a gift to this universe.

Chocolate Frogs from Hermione - Ron steals a handful - and then fudge and a jumper from Mrs. Weasley. He didn't even think of getting her a present, but Ron waves away his concerns so he slips his own on. Its wonderfully warm and brilliant he doubts he'll be taking it off for a while.

A fifty pence note from his relatives. He is kind of confused - wouldn't it cost more than that to ship it to here?

But it's the thought that counts, as he hands it off to Ron. Maybe he can give it to his muggle-obsessed father.

The last present, however, pulls his interest. It's a square, neatly folded, but it doesn't hold its shape. It's rather lumpy, covered with bright golden wrapping paper that glimmers warmly in the light. He almost swears that he can see little shapes twitching inside of it from magic. There's a grin on his face as he flips it over and over, trying to find a note or a name. Ron is just as confused as he is.

There's no name, but there is a note.

 _Your father had this before you. May you use it well._

No signature. It could be anyone's present, but he hasn't really made any friends outside of the ones that gave him presents already. And none of the people he knows would give him a cryptic note and a mysterious package.

He idly wonders whether Malfoy sent it.

But still, he unwrapped the present and lets the shimmering cloth pool between his legs. It's silver and brilliant and for some reason a spark burns behind his eyes as he looks over the cloak.

And then he puts it on and goes invisible.

It's absolutely brilliant and he can't wait to see what he can do with it, Ron crowing happily in the background. Whoever gave it to him must have either not known what it is or really, _really_ likes him.

Ron says its an Invisibility Cloak. They're really rare and hard to find, but dead useful for everything. He imagines his father tucked under the shining silver surface and running through the halls and smiles.

He places it under his pillow as the day goes on, planning to wait a day or two before using it. It would be terrible if he was caught on the first day of having it, because the teachers are always on high alert the day after Christmas. The smiles the twins share in the common room are proof enough.

But that night, when he's had his fill of roasted turkey and brilliant pudding and enough treacle tart to last him a decade, he stumbles back to his bed with an overstuffed belly and falls asleep on his bed.

That night, he screams.

There is something attacking his head, sharp as a knife. It stabs between his eyes and cuts upward, carving around his scar.

And something is fighting back, but its not him. Shrieks echo through his mind and magic crackles at his fingertips and the cloak sits beneath his pillow. His eyes roll backward and even while he sleeps the battle rages on.

When he wakes in the morning, something is different.

He feels lighter - he no longer has a weight on his shoulders even though he didn't know it was there. Magic springs to his hand as he even thinks of a spell and his forehead doesn't twinge when Quirrel turns his back on him. And even his scar has changed - its not the bright red but a paler version, fading as the day goes on. No one mentions it but it won't be long until its there at all.

He's never felt better in his entire life.

But that night he sits on his bed, staring at the cloak in his hand. It glimmers innocently up at him, seemingly just a magical item.

And as it stares at it, something hums in his mind. His magic reacts as he picks it up, swirling happily inside of him. The cloak wraps around him easily and he disappears from view, gaze sharpening.

Far away in the distance, some form of dog howls.

xXx

He sneaks out that very night, just him. Though it makes no sense it _hurts_ to think about Ron or Hermione touching his cloak, so he doesn't mention it and he bets that over the course of a week it might fade slightly from Ron's mind. Super powerful or not, Ron's attention leaves a lot to be desired.

The cloak seems to do more than just turn him invisible. Miss Norris doesn't even blink at him even though she should smell him. He creeps behind Snape forever without the man even blinking, and he even sneaks into Professor McGonagall's classroom and rearranges the desks.

But then he enters a classroom and finds it the opposite of empty. A mirror stands tall and strong, shining brightly even though no lights are in the room. Words are carved along the top.

And when he stands in its path, the Harry he sees is very different.

He's taller, though not by much. His clothes are his exact size and there are no rips, no scuffs, no tears from where Dudley had outgrown them or attacked him. They fit him and him alone.

The cloak is curled around his shoulders, much like it is now. It shines bright here, magnified. Something whispers in his mind as he traces his eyes over it, lips curling into a smile. The cloak - despite being a _cloak_ \- is happy. This Harry has something that it wants, and he searches for whatever the item is in his not-reflection.

He's holding a wand. But it's not his.

The one is smooth and slightly curved, more like a regular branch then a carved piece of wood. Dark and thin and it also hums in his mind, the same contented sigh that the cloak is giving off.

It's not his wand but he feels that if he were to hold that wand, swish it like he did at Ollivander's shop, the sparks that would explode from it would make the sun seem dim in their glory. He wants it.

But then his not-reflection smirks and raises a single hand, facing back first. A ring glitters on his hand, a pure black stone with a simple golden setting. There is a crack down the middle but it seems more perfect than anything he had ever seen in his entire life. It hisses to him and he wants it.

He wants them all.

The cloak, the wand, the ring - they whisper to him and they aren't evil. They thrum with the same magic that now lives behind his forehead, the same magic that took out whatever had been living there before.

But they aren't evil. He stills remembers the shrieked threats of the magic in his scar as the cloak dragged it away into nothingness.

The cloak, the wand, the ring.

He nods to his reflection. It nods back.

And then he throws the cloak back over his head and starts toward the library, a happy whisper surfacing in his mind. Voldemort has all but faded from his mind, and he doesn't think of how evil Snape is or how Quirrel is definitely shifty. All that surfaces in his mind is the thought of the other two.

xXx

Hours later, as light touches the edge of the library, he slips one more book under his cloak and prepares to stand. He is drop dead tired but energy thrums through his body, the cloak bright in his eyes.

The Deathly Hallows, and he needs to find them.

He doesn't know why. Doesn't understand why the cloak sings to him. Doesn't understand what was in his forehead. Doesn't understand why he is filled with this desire.

But he knows he will find the three and find out what happens after that. Hermione would be proud of him.

Except for the fact he's stealing from a library and pulling an all-nighter, he admits as he sneaks out the library and heads back up to his common room. The Fat Lady merely raises an eyebrow but lets him in, tutting disapprovingly. He smiles self deprecating and thanks her as warmly as he muster.

But he has a purpose now. Dumbledore says it is to stop Voldemort, the world says it is to save Magical Britain, his friends say it is to save everything.

He almost laughs. He has found something much, much, much better.

The Deathly Hallows are a myth thought never to exist except for the fact he has already found one. The other two must be somewhere else in this world, and he will find them. The wand will make him unstoppable. The stone will let him see his parents. The cloak has made him unfindable.

The cloak hums softly in his ear as he tucks it into his bag. He's not going anywhere without it.

xXx

He knows that someone is going after the Philosopher's Stone tonight. It's not his stone but something about must be important for Dumbledore to protect it. Hermione is dead set on contacting Dumbledore and Ron is with her, so tonight he sneaks out under the cover of his cloak and heads toward the corridor they had wrangled out of the twins so long ago.

The cerberus - Fluffy - sits in the corner of the room, head collapsed on the ground. Deep breaths echo around the room as one of the heads twitch in a dream, and he smiles. Something hums happily as he sees the creature, and he idly remembers that cerberus guard the gates to the underworld. Fluffy has connections to death and so does he, and he strokes the closest paw and he walks past.

The dog instantly wakes up, the soothing tones of the harp holding no sway over him any longer. He freezes, cloak falling silent in his mind.

Fluffy rises to his feet, all three heads focused forward. He inches forward, letting out one warm breath that flows over him like an oncoming wave. The middle head stares at him with narrowed yellow eyes.

And then he lays back on the ground, happily wagging his tail and panting softly, transformed from the guarder of death's gates to a puppy.

He pets him, smile flickering over his face. The heads croon up at him but the trapdoor sings a song he can't ignore. No matter what he wants now, eh can't let Voldemort become immortal.

The world would fall.

So he steps away and heads toward the door, popping it open. The cloak is tied tighter around his neck and then he is jumping through into the darkness beyond.

The ground is soft and squishy and moving. It writhes around him as his feet and then ankles and then knees disappear into it, wrapping him tighter and tighter. He struggles ina panic before the cloak murmurs quietly to him and he calms, drawing his wand. Its not the right wand but he needs to see, casting _Lumos_ as fast as he can.

The light lets him see brilliant green vines, slithering over each other before they retreat as fast as they came, sliding back into crevices in the walls and huddling away from the shining ball of light. He falls to the ground, eyes wide. The plant is vaguely familiar from some lesson from Professor Sprout but then he's marching onward, heading toward the large door he can see.

The keys are hexed down from the ceiling one by one until he can find the one he needs for the door. The brooms are ignored. He isn't good enough at flying to try and catch that with enough time to be able to find the stone.

The chessboard is the easiest. He throws on his cloak and just walks right across, and no one of the pieces even so much as move. It's a bit of a shame but he needs to get through as fast as he can. The cloak hums happily.

The troll is already knocked out. He doesn't worry and gets out of the room fast, the smell enough to make him gag.

The potions in the room make him stop. But the magic in his head thrums as he touches certain glasses, and he rightly guesses those as the poison. Through guess and error, he drinks one terrible vial of wine before finding the proper one, downing it quickly before walking through the final flame that leads to the room.

The mirror is there, still enormous and sparkling. But he ignores that as he stares at the man standing next to it, arms crossed and twitching with his turban wrapped tightly around his head.

Quirrel. Huh. He didn't see that coming.

But the cloak hisses in a fury and he feel something whisper to him from the man, something dark that shrieks threats even though the room is silent. Its the same magic that once lived in his forehead, the one that the cloak saved him from. The same magic that is living inside his professor.

Quirrel looks up, a sneer forming on his face but he is already moving, dodging the sickly blue curse flung at him. Instead he reaches forward and touches the man's face with his hand, eyes narrowed.

There is a furious shriek and the turban rots in an instant, revealing a horidious face melting in on itself. Quirrel collapses to his knees, fingers digging into his head as he screams.

And then they both disappear, dissolving into a mass of ashes that flutter in a missing wind. A wraith explodes from them and sails toward the door, filled with the same magic that had once been in Quirrel.

It doesn't make it very far.

Something black explodes from Quirrell's corpse, lunging through the air. It sinks white fangs into the wraith and pulls it to the ground. In under a second, the shape swallows the magic whole.

He stares.

It's a dog, but one he had never seen before. The fur is black and the size is enormous but the edges blur together, fading in and out of his vision. The edges of the fur trickle off into the air like smoke and the eyes are too bright, too intelligent, to be any sort of regular dog.

He recognizes it from a picture. A grim - dogs that appear before death comes, and he idly worries for himself.

But the grim inclines its head and tucks itself closer to Harry, a rumble like growl escaping from his mouth. The sound is comforting and he's got a hand on his back, petting through the fur that seems as cold as death.

Voldemort is dead. Or at least a part of him.

But if two pieces of his magic were in him and Quirrel, there are more. He doesn't know how many but the cloak hums in agreement, and so he knows for sure there are more, dotted around the world. He will find them just as he finds the wand and the ring, and then Voldemort will be dead and he will be free.

The grim leads him back through the path, swallowing the flames into his shadow and growling once at the chess pieces. The now-awake troll scurries to a corner and doesn't move as they walk through, and the plant doesn't so much as twitch as Harry slowly rises to the trapdoor on one of the brooms. The grim dives into the nearest shadow and is waiting in Fluffy's room as he arrives.

The cloak whispers to him and he touches the very tip of his move prized possession to the fur of the grim, and with a soft hum the dog disappears. But he can still feel him - the same comforting magic filling the cloak is there, and in the next second the grim appears. It disappears again before coming back, seemingly becoming adjusted to its new ability. But he is happy - for the grim to avoid detection is to the let him follow him. And the grim appears to be thinking the exact same thing as he feel the sting of frostbite touch his leg. The grim's fur would freeze another human but for him it just hums with magic.

They walk back to his common room, saying goodbye to the cerberus on the way out. He is closer now to finding them.

The cloak, the wand, the ring.

* * *

 **Hey guys!**

 **How do you like the story? Pretty basic and I think I'll make it continue through the seven years, though most definitely things will change. But hey, how did you guys like it?**

 **I always thought it was weird that the Invisibility Cloak - a Deathly Hallow - was only used when Harry wanted to sneak around places? Shouldn't it have had a bigger effect on the future?**

 **But it didn't, and thus this story was born.**

 **IDK on where I'm going to go with this. I'll probably only really write scenes that are changed by Harry having one of the Deathly Hallows and how things change throughout the years.**

 **Also, in case you didn't understand, the magic of the Deathly Hallow destroyed the horcrux in Harry's head. Voldemort's wraith was killed but his consciousness still flew away, though he lost another soul piece. So now he's down to five. He'll still have his memories, though what happens next is what I can't tell you. It'd be a spoiler, and those are bad xD**

 **Anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


	2. Year Two

Harry packs up his trunk, eyes furrowed and hands tight. The last of his robes were already in but something still pulls him toward the school, even as he prepares to leave. The other boys are there too, hooting and throwing pillows across the room.

The grim - his grim - is somewhere near him, possibly perched on the bed. Everyone avoids the area, shivering before quickly moving on.

He doesn't mind.

They move down to the Great Hall, chatting among themselves. Malfoy taunts him once over the head of the other first years but frostbite brushes his leg and he's able to ignore the silver-haired boy, much to his displeasure.

Ron congratulates him.

The load goes quickly, trunks appearing as if by magic in their compartments a while after they arrive. Ron and Hermione are with him, laughing and grinning. His grim isn't there. It's somewhere else, peeling away before he got on the train.

It's almost sad, but he ignores it for now.

The train goes quickly, rumbling over the countryside. His mind flicks back to the cloak in his bag, one that hums almost silently in his mind even as he talks to his friend. Quiet and comforting.

The cloak, the wand, the ring.

He pushes it from his mind and tries to focus back on the conversation, but the words he spills are shorter until they sit in silence, his face pressed to the window and staring at the fields they pass.

But then they are at Kings Cross Station, something he hasn't seen in a little under a year, and he'll see it again soon. At the end of the summer. That's how long he's got to wait until he's free again.

He's just grabbing his trunk when his mind sings again, the air dropping a single degree. He smiles more real now.

Uncle Vernon growls and stomps over, and he docily trots over to the car. In only a second he's strapped in, trunk locked in the back and wand slipped up his sleeve. His uncle isn't confident enough to take it from him.

The ride is short and then they are home, and he steps out of the car to his uncle's usual barrage of insults. But something is different this time, his eyes are shrewder and he doesn't mention his parents at all.

Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, don't know he can't use magic. He grins with reckless abandon and pushes past his uncle, heading toward the house. He almost grabs his trunk but doesn't want to push it quite yet.

Aunt Petunia scowls at him and Dudley raps his cane across the doorframe of the kitchen. He merely smiles back as a list of chores is shoved into his hand. Weed the garden, trim the grass, wash the windows, clean the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms, vacuum, and on Friday he washes the outside of the house.

Nearly equal to what he did before. They don't want to lump anymore on him but seemingly can't take anything away. He bobs his head politely and curls his hand around the list, turning around to head to the stairs.

Dudley thumps his cane against the wall again, the sound dark and threatening. There is a smirk on his face that his newly gained fifteen pounds haven't managed to destroy.

His room is untouched except for a layer of dust. They haven't even cleaned it but he doesn't mind, taking out two rags and wiping down. The blanket goes from grey to a pale blue under his ministrations.

Hedwig hoots from her cage and he unlocks it, unclasping the window to let her fly out as she pleases.

Hoarfrost brushes on his side and his grim appears, a smile flashing on his face. It barks softly, fur trailing off into smoky tendrils.

Grims are only supposed to hang around those that are about to die. He idly wonders about his future but ignores it when Hedwig chirps approvingly.

xXx

Dudley punches him.

He came down to clean and prepare breakfast for them all, and then the stairs creaked dangerously. Turning around to face him, he met Dudley's fist.

It snaps his head backward and sends him crashing against the marble counter. His vision snaps to scarlet.

He stumbles to his feet just as Uncle Vernon thunders into the kitchen. His piggy eyes fly open wide and then he's lunging forward, a bellow on his tongue.

Something snarls through the air. It's cold as ice, burning as fire, filled with the rattling chill of death. His grim appears into a burst of light, brilliant eyes narrowed and growling with a fury.

Dudley screams. Uncle Vernon roars. Aunt Petunia squeaks.

He gets to his feet, face weeping blood. It drips to stain the floor but Aunt Petunia only shrieks again, howling unintelligible words that snap through the air. Dudley takes a stuttering step backward as the grim advances.

His grim comes back when he calls. Their eyes get wider.

In a fit of rage only born from stupidity, Uncle Vernon lunges forward and grabs his neck, lifting him into the air. His grim goes slack but he does not trust the gleam in its eyes, the slavering jaw filled with grinning teeth.

If it wanted, the grim could rip them limb of limb and not pause in the slightest.

Uncle Vernon laughs with false victory and carries him up the stairs, throwing him into his room hard enough to slam his back into the bed frame. The door slams shut and his grim howls once before reappearing in the closest shadow, stepping forward to push its nose into his hand.

He finds a rag and holds it to his forehead, wiping crimson off his face. It comes away sticky and then he is opening his window, telling Hedwig to fly far, far away and wait before coming back.

She does so.

The next day, he wakes up with locks on his door and bars on his window. Uncle Vernon cackles through the door and he almost fears for his trunk before shrugging it off.

He has his wand _not the right wand_ and his grim, and books can always be bought again. This doesn't affect him in the slightest.

He tries to ignore how it _hurts_

xXx

Time passes slowly in his room. He takes to sleeping most of the time, frostbite chilling his room until he uses every single blanket he can get his hand on. His grim sits by the door, coming as close as possible to Aunt Petunia's hand as she pushes food through. Its smoke fur licks her fingers as she retreats away.

His grim never eats, and Hedwig can catch all of the mice she wants and hopefully finds a safe place to sleep. Maybe she went to the Weasleys. They'd be good to her, and Ron wouldn't question why she was there.

Hermione would, and he hopes she doesn't go there.

But Uncle Vernon whispers through the door threatening words of his trunk and of how they had to have a party at another's person's' house because of how he might mess everything up. He doesn't respond, and with one last passing insult, his uncle leaves.

He doesn't get food that day and has to keep his grim from howling long into the night.

But the next day something does happen, the day of the party where everyone is out of the house. He was resigning to digging into the last bag of his secret food when something pops into the middle of his room.

It's short and squat, with pale brown skin and floppy ears. It squeaks upon seeing him but strides forward, chest rising. The beginning an introduction rises to the air before-

His grim lunges through the air and snaps fangs into the creature's skull. It shrieks before disappearing into his grim's mouth.

He shrieks just as loud but his grim just stares up at him with eyes too bright, too intelligent, too _deathly_ to be real. Smoke writhes from its back and ash trickles from its mouth as it steps forward, the carpet turning black and rotting underneath its paws. It is a wild animal now, death filling its gaze.

He can only stare as his protector stands by the door, an innocent creature's blood staining the tips of its teeth.

The cloak hums happily in his mind as he creeps to the corner of his bed, never taking his eyes off of the creature of death. It likes, it condones, it _loves_ what his grim - the grim - did, killing a creature that dared enter his room.

Words dance through his mind again.

The cloak. The wand. The ring.

Desire to find the three of them fills him again, strong and unearthly and not his. The magic in his forehead flutters again and the words come again, the grim snorting once in its corner of the room.

He wonders who wants to get the three items together, wonders who it was he saw in the mirror in that room, wonders what has taken a hold in his mind and now pushes him to find three of the bloodiest items in wizarding history.

It takes forever for sleep to find him, huddled as far away from the grim as he can in his small room and smaller bed. It watches over him impassively, blood eventually dissolving as its magic rips it to shreds. It looks just like it had before, sharp edges and trailing smoke off into the ceiling.

When sleep finally takes him, he dreams of the cloak

xXx

In the morning, the grim is gone.

He can't decide whether he's happy or not.

xXx

The summer ends quickly after that. Days fly past his window as he looks outside, catching the fleeting glances of sunlight off of his rapidly paling skin. It warms up in his room fast and this grim does not come back. Uncle Vernon stops his taunts and Aunt Petunia gives him food regularly, though Dudley thumps his cane against the door everything morning as he goes down.

The end of August comes and then he is waiting by the door as Uncle Vernon unlocks each and every one of the locks, grumbling about freakish magic and the destruction of his natural life.

Aunt Petunia sends him off with a scowl and Dudley doesn't show as he's loaded into the back of his uncle's car, trunk popped in tight. The edges are scratched but he doubts that any of his family members would be willing to go inside, with all of the strange magic things they won't even say the word of.

But then he's pulling into King's Cross, barely pulling his supplies out before Uncle Vernon kicks the car into gear and speeds away.

He knows the way and easily slips into the crowd, ducking his head to avoid anyone seeing him until he's in their regular compartment, eagerly awaiting his friends. No letters but he didn't expect any - he couldn't send anything with Hedwig gone. Besides, Hermione was on vacation.

Said girl storms into the compartment with a scowl on her face and a rain cloud over her head. She demands answers to the nine letters she sent him over the summer, none of which he answered.

He sputters at her and explains how Hedwig wasn't with him for nearly the entire summer. She scowls but he talks more, explaining everything except the grim, the strange _dead_ creature, and the six words that have been bouncing around his head all summer.

Eventually, she starts to accept what he's saying and just hits him over the head with one of her books before sitting down.

They wait, and Ron doesn't show up. The train rumbles into action and he's still not there. Hermione's nervous but they both know Mrs. Weasley and while she may be late, Ron's showing up at Hogwarts.

It's only when they get to Hogwarts that they realize that he flew all the way here in a flying car his dad enchanted and is currently in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, possibly waiting for expulsion.

Neither of them know what to say, so they say nothing. And when Ron comes back to them, grinning happily and saying that he got the head over Snape and is completely fine, they say nothing then either.

The beds of Hogwarts were softer and warmer than anything he had ever remembered, and he sank into them and the grips of sleep faster than ever before, Hedwig perched high in the owlery.

His mind, perhaps for the first time in months, was free.

xXx

Halloween was when everything started to go wrong again.

A regular Quidditch practice, accompanied by the twins throwing their beater bats at Wood when he talked too long and the changing room seems too hot. Probably at fault of the twins.

But then green and silver marched onto eh field and Draco Malfoy smirked oh-so-smugly, words falling to his lips.

Ron roars with fury and nearly leaps at him but Hermione pulls him back, whispering soothing words in his ear even as her fists clench around his robes and her eyes could set fire to Snape.

Draco pushes his luck, she hexes him, and he has to corral them off the field to the twins hooted laughter. Ron is cackling at the sight of Draco's bright red hair and his desperate attempts to spell it clean, and even when he manages the power is far from him and his team. Snape and his note be damned, they retreat off the field and leave them be. Hermione and Ron go back to the stands. He accepts smiles from the Chasers and the thanks from Wood as he climbs back on his broom, preparing to take off.

On the way back to the common room, all Ron talks about is his excitement for the feast. Hermione mutters about revenge from the Slytherins but both of them push it from her mind, telling her to relax.

She does so, and all of them are happier for it.

But as they walk through the corridor to arrive at the Great Hall, something makes them stop cold.

Written in brilliant red something, there are words scrawled across the stone wall in decidedly messy handwriting, the edges of letters dripping. _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware_.

And Miss Norris, stiff and cold, hangs from her tail from the pole of a torch. She doesn't move.

Snape charges down the hallway, pushing past the group of students that they hadn't noticed forming around them. They are blended in but still he somehow picks him out, words snapping and harsh.

Dumbledore gently diffuses the situation, but his eyes and words are grave. Argus Filch weeps, Peeves cackles, and everyone sits in stunned silence.

They've been attacked, inside of Hogwarts.

The one place said to be nearly as hard to break into as Gringotts, and that place is guarded by dragons.

The Halloween Feast is quiet and scared despite Dumbledore's best efforts and when they head back up to their common rooms, the mood is far lower than subdued. The twins don't even crack a joke and Percy only mutters a warning about how they should be on their feet for a while.

Ron is still pale-faced and Hermione digs through one of her books for the second time, tongue between her teeth.

He justs sits on his bed, frostbite spreading through his body. The cat wasn't dead, Dumbledore had said - but there, frozen stiff and hung from the wall like a decoration, what kind of living was that?

xXx

He hears words in the walls, one with the same chilling aftertones as the grim's howl, the same burn as its snarl, the pain of its bite.

He pushes thoughts of _rip, tear, bite, kill_ from his mind and turns his attention back to his studies.

xXx

Lockhart is a terrible teacher and only Hermione resolutely stays onto the prayer that maybe he isn't, paying attention is his classes like her life depends on them, raising her hand before he even finishes his questions, sneaking hearts around his lessons in her planner when she thinks Ron isn't looking.

But he is, and there's another fight about it.

It's short but he still hides away in the library, scouring for any more books of the grim. Hermione thinks he is researching the Chamber of Secrets and tells him that she has already pried everything she can out of the books, the students, and even the teachers. But still he does it because he needs to know about the monster that killed Quirrel and the strange creature, and it's something he can do without thinking of the strange voice and then six words-

The cloak. The wand. The ring.

It flashes through his mind again and he goes back to his book with twice the ferocity than before.

But Lockhart is determined to make him suffer even more than just in acting out lessons, pretending to be savage werewolves and insane harpies that don't have high enough shrieks or thrashes. He knows the class is laughing at him every time the stupid man calls him up to reenact one of his books.

And so he starts a Dueling Club, and Hermione drags both him and Ron into it, despite their pleas.

The first match comes up and he appears in a twirl on lavender robes, the fabric snapping around his ankles in a manner akin to a dance. He smiles that camera-breaking smile and goes into a far too long talk about the spell he's using and how its nothing compared to how brave he is!

And then Snape blasts him across the room and for once, the entire room is cheering for greasy-haired dungeon bat.

But then they're being paired up, and Hermione is with some heavy set Slytherin, Ron is with Crabbe, and he's with Draco.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco 'mudblood' Malfoy.

He readies his wand and they bow to each other with only the slightest incline of their heads. Pure malice and spite glitters off their forms, two years of taunting and threats coming together in one day of free cursing, and it's not something they are ever going to give up, Lockhart's rules be damned.

Spells fire and they aren't the funny one Snape used. Sends them flying back, a fit of giggles, legs of jelly.

Until Draco barks out a word and a snake appears on the platform, hissing furiously and also scared.

But he can understand it, and he coaxes the snake away from a Hufflepuff boy, who looks anything but grateful.

Ron and Hermione steal him away to Draco's triumphant expression and talk to him about Parseltongue and snakes and the Chamber of Secrets, but he's just happy because that voice, that terrible voice he's been hearing isn't the grim, isn't the cloak, isn't the deathly magic locked in his forehead.

He tells them about the voice almost offhandedly, mind on other things.

They don't think about it that way.

xXx

Hermione is petrified, and he's breaking down.

Found in a corridor next to the library, a Ravenclaw prefect by her side, a handheld mirror tight in her hand. Nothing but an expression of fear on their faces.

Four students, and Dumbledore still hasn't done anything.

He goes through the day like an avenging angel, all sharp angles and narrowed eyes. No one stands in his way and he even hisses furiously at two Hufflepuffs, probably hurting his image but he doesn't care.

Hermione is gone, and they still haven't done _anything_.

The night passes in fitful slumber, everyone cold and sorrowful. No one thinks of happy things even if they didn't know Hermione because people are being attacked and no one _knows why_.

And then Ginny is taken and Ron is furious too.

People both move from their path, and Snape doesn't take a single point from them in potions. The twins' pranks grind to an all-too-sudden halt and Percy stays in the common room nearly all the day. People tread lightly around the silent Weasleys.

Professor McGonagall lets them meet with Hermione's cold, stiff body, so similar to death.

But it isn't death, and his magic doesn't sing when he comes close to her like it does whenever he gets close to death. The cloak hums in his mind as he looks at her but it isn't malevolent, just curious about why a human is frozen like that.

Ron touches her hair, as that is one of the only unfrozen things about her, limp against the pillow.

He finds a paper in her hand and they're moving.

Basilisk. Not related to death but kills with a look, but they don't have time to sit around and tell professors. Hermione would have said go to the professors, go to Dumbledore, go to a prefect.

But Ginny is also missing and then they're running through the halls, desperately reading and thinking and praying to find something.

Pipes.

He casts a _reducto_ on the walls until he finds a pipe large enough and they're both crawling through it, minds focused on one thing and one thing only. It takes them forever to get anywhere, the slimy metal of the pipes pressing down on them from every side as they shuffle through the depths of Hogwarts.

It grows wider and they move faster. Scratches cover the metal, impossible to have been made by flowing water.

But then they're sliding much faster as the pipe twirls down, shooting down into an empty cavern filled with hundreds of mouse skeletons. They cast spells to light up the room, eyes wide and breath sharp.

Parseltongue is their only strategy in fighting a basilisk.

They don't have time to plan anything better. Ginny could be dead soon and they could all be next.

The cavern opens out and the floor drops away to stone brick slick with the pools of water on either side. A gaping face yawns from the other side of the room and snakeheads grin from flickering torchlight.

Ron sucks in a deep breath and his eyes fly open wide at the red-haired figure sprawled at the base of the statue. He runs forward and falls by her side, hands fluttering over her neck and arms.

A pulse, however faint.

And then a boy appears, Hogwarts robes sparking in and out of focus. He smiles with a devilish grin, head tilted.

His magic roars into life and he senses the same crackling magic, the same silent screamed threats that his mind and Quirrel once held.

Voldemort, no matter how young and innocent he looks. The Dark Lord opens his mouth to talk but he's already firing the first spell that flies to his lips.

It passes harmlessly through his form, the hole closing up instantly. Voldemort tilts his head to the side, eyebrows raising.

Ron hasn't even looked up from Ginny, eyes flicking over the diary in her hand. He doesn't recognize it but the black leather gleams in the light.

Voldemort turns and hisses at the statue.

He hisses at it too, begging it to close, stay dormant, never release itself. The parseltongue slithers through the air as they compete in nothing but words. Ron looks thoroughly confused but still he throws the diary away from Ginny's hands and starts to pick her up.

Voldemort barks out one last final command and the mouth finally opens, the grating sound of scales against stone echoing through the cavern.

The chamber.

The Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione will be so happy they found it if they actually get out alive.

Ron desperately pulls Ginny along faster, her legs dragging along the floor. The diary sits untouched several feet away.

Voldemort cackles with delight as something stirs within the statue's mouth, uncoiling from the hidden depths. A bone shattering hiss spreads through the room, not normally a destructive sound but made so by the sheer power of the basilisk.

He steps forward, the only protection Ron has to get out of there with his sister. It takes him a heartbeat to think of it but yes, he is willing to die for his friend. There's not a better death in the world.

Voldemort hisses another command, _kill him_ , and the basilisk finally comes out form the statue.

He whirls around just in time, eyes closing.

The ground shakes as it lands on the stone bricks, scales scrapping on the stone. It hisses, soft and deadly.

His magic flickers once, forehead bleeding through with heat. Something like an itch behind his eyes, similar to what he's felt all summer.

 _Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!_

He whirls around, keeping his eyes closed. Parseltongue opens the gate - he nearly shut it. Parseltongue commands the basilisk - he can as well. He hopes.

Voldemort laughs out something about this being too easy and _not going to fight back, Potter?_

He gathers every ounce of strength he has, harnessing the burn in his forehead where Voldemort used to be. His wand magic springs to his fingers, ready to cast any spell that could defeat this monster.

But he also takes the bite of hoarfrost, the sting of fire, the death rattle of the grim that protected him and pushes it out in a single word.

 _Stop._

The basilisk freezes.

Voldemort screams in rage and confusion and spits out more commands. He can feel the snake shaking, torn between its master and the pressing chill from him. Hissed confusions dance across the room.

Then Ron comes back to life, waving his arms in a wild fit of courage. He screams something about the diary, pointing to Voldemort.

He gets the message, though not immediately.

Dropping the magic he summoned he lunges for the diary. Voldemort _screams_ and goes for him, terrible long fingers _reaching_

Only to pass through his body. He does nothing in his wraith-like form.

Ron runs away again, standing over his sister as the basilisk rears back to life, scales grinding against the stone.

He grabs the diary and has absolutely no idea on what to do with it but then the cloak shrieks in his mind, a single word coming to the forefront. He does not understand it but shouts it out nonetheless.

 _Chalí!_

The Greek word for hellhound.

With a snarl, the grim appears in a shadowed corner of the room.

Its fur drips smoke and its snarl freezes Voldemort in his tracks. Its eyes - so _bright_ so _intelligent_ so _deathly_ \- fly to the diary in his hand.

He throws it through the air and the grim pounces it to the ground. Teeth bite clean through the pages and a long, terrible wail rips itself from Voldemort as he writhes in the corner, breaking apart before his very eyes.

And then he is gone.

The grim growls once at the basilisk and it retreats, curling back inside the statue's mouth. He commands it to close and it does so, sliding shut and staying there as every noise falls silent.

The grim rumbles once before disappearing into the shadow of a wall, the frostbite of its presence fading quickly.

The diary is gone but the death screams in his mind, the cloak humming happiness in his every thought.

Ron emerges and again and he makes up some lie about cursing the diary until Voldemort died and the basilisk running away. He accepts it in his panic over Ginny and they both run back to the open pipes, dragging the girl between them.

But the grim and the cloak and the magic sing in his mind, the six words blazing behind his eyes even as he saves the sister of his best friend-

The cloak. The wand. The ring.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Second chapter.**

 **In two days! I'm on a role. This is pretty cool.**

 **But I hope you guys like how I'm quickly changing the canon of this world. I mean, Ron and Harry going down into the Chamber together without Lockhart and through the pipes and, you know, killing Dobby.**

 ***ducks* I'm sorry!**

 **But grims are dangerous creatures, also known as hellhounds in greek culture. They kill and rip apart souls without an ounce of mercy and if Harry is the destined one to bring the Hallows back together, you can bet your bottom dollar that they're going to be protecting him.**

 **Even if it means killing.**

 _ **Especially**_ **if it means killing.**

 **He can summon 'his' grim with the magic word** _ **chalí**_ **, which is the Greek word for hellhound. But he can't control or command them, just give them tasty tidbits of Voldemort to eat and devour. And if you think that he's going through the Horcruxes too fast, well, yeah. He probably is.**

 **We'll just have to wait until next year to see how many he takes out then! You never know, eh?**

 **But yeah. How do you guys feel about how the world is going? I'm trying to make the cloak and the grim and the death magic in his forehead-ish area now not seem so benevolent, just willing to help him be all free and stuff. They want him to reunite the most dangerous items in the Wizarding World and it's not going to be a finger-snap and done cure. He's going to have to bleed for it.**

 **So yeah. They're invasive and not exactly a good thing, but its what he's working with. No one knows yet because he doesn't exactly want to be studied and maybe even killed for holding death magic in him. So Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore don't know about it.**

 **Although you can definitely bet that the Dursley's know** _ **something**_ **and they aren't exactly going to be very nice to him when he gets home this year. What they do is up to me, however!**

 **Geez. This is the longest author's note ever. I'll wrap it up quick.**

 **Anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


	3. Year Three

Uncle Vernon is nearly two hours late.

He just sits at King's Cross, waving away all of the more-than-moderately concerned people looking at the poorly dressed boy without any parents or guardians. At least he has already released Hedwig. That would be a whole new set of problems.

But then his uncle finally shows up, scowl firm on his face and a growl building in his throat. The conductor who checked on him the most gives the man firmly disapproving glare and stares at his license number, scrawling something down a piece of paper. He goes back to his work but keeps the paper.

He doesn't know how that will turn out, but he's almost excited. If only the man had heard about the bars on his window.

But he's tucked into the car, trunk locked firmly in the back. Uncle Vernon doesn't say anything, bushy mustache twitching as he speeds home. He doesn't say anything back and it's an almost pleasant drive back to his house.

Number Four Privet Drive has never been his home.

The bars are gone on his window - they probably looked too freakish when they weren't important to keep him locked inside. But the garden looks almost unkempt and the lawn has grown nearly two inches over what Aunt Petunia allows. If it wasn't for the frying pan his aunt wields as he pulls into the driveway, he'd almost think that they missed him. Missed him for his chores, sure, but still true.

His trunk is wrenched from the car and immediately strapped into his old cupboard, but there's a grin on his face that they don't notice. Under his baggy old shirt tied tight enough with a piece of string is a book, one he hid before he even got on the train. None of his relatives know about it and even if he's locked in his room he'll have something to do. Something to make this hellish summer go faster.

After what the grim did to all of them, he doubts they'll even let him out to go to the bathroom.

But most of the locks are gone on his door except for one, and though the room is covered in a thick layer of dust they haven't taken away any of Dudley's old broken toys or the storybooks he bought and never read.

It's almost like they're scared of him.

Uncle Vernon grabs him and makes him stand in the living room as they outline what will be happening over the summer with him there.

He will do every single chore they assign him at night, and he won't come out during the day as to not let their neighbors see him.

They will leave out something for him when he wakes up at night and he is allowed two pieces of bread and a single slice of lunch meat before he goes to sleep again. No snacks in between.

Every job must be done to perfection or he's getting more the next night, and Uncle Vernon will check every morning.

He will not talk, annoy, speak, or even look at their neighbors lest he makes them look not normal.

And no matter what, he will never, never, never summon the freakish dog or not be allowed to go to Hogwarts ever again for his entire life. It is never allowed back in the Dursley home.

He nearly laughs on the last one but nods demurely and turns to head back to his room. There are things he has to do.

But Uncle Vernon catches him again.

Aunt Marge will be coming for several days in only a week's time, and he is not allowed to talk to her, either. He'll be staying in his room and if he's lucky, she won't even know he exists.

He thinks of her dog, Ripper. The pup seems harmless, gentle, even innocent after the grim he's met and summoned. There's a scar on his leg from its bite but he would be _dead_ if the grim bit him.

A smile flickers on his lips before he nods again and heads toward his room. Aunt Marge holds no fear over him after Voldemort, after the grim, after the basilisk. Even the Dursleys hardly faze him now.

But he's got a book, and he pulls it out after wiping down his room. Stole it from the library - oh, how Hermione would be furious - on the last day of school. One of the longest books he could find so he wouldn't be that bored reading it over and over again, as he probably will.

 _Deathly Creatures from the Beyond_.

For such an inspiring title, the book's contents aren't so brilliant. It's a step above _Magical Creatures and Where to Find Them_ , though only because it talks about dangerous animals and goes much further in depth. Every powerful being in the Wizarding World is in between these covers.

Or at least, that's what the back cover promises. He hopes that it's actually true and not another Lockhart.

But it still looks bloody interesting to read despite only having three pages on the grim, and one of them is halfway taken up by a blurry picture. It doesn't show much but he can see the hind legs, fur trailing off into the gloom of the black-and-white image. There are no eyes however, and he's glad.

It may take him a while to adjust to becoming nocturnal, waking at evening and sleeping at dawn, but not much. If it lets him avoid both the Dursleys and Aunt Marge, he'll do it in a heartbeat.

And if he cooks their breakfast - and he is for sure going to be made to do - he can even sneak an extra pancake. Aunt Petunia has no way of measuring pancake batter.

He hopes.

But the first day winds to a warm end as he throws open his windows and lets a cool summer breeze wash over his room. He imagines how pale he'll come, working at night and sleeping at day, though at least he's not locked in his room with nothing to do but sleep and watch the grim.

At least this way he's free.

He watches the curve of a crescent moon slip over the horizon.

It's one of the most beautiful things he's seen.

xXx

He burns fast and hard.

When he's working his mind is focused on the task at hand, sweeping and snipping and mowing and cooking, and it only wanders to think about how much easier it would be to do these things with a wand. He can't wait until he's seventeen and can properly terrify the Dursleys.

The thought puts a smile on his face.

But when he finishes up and has eaten his sandwich he heads up to his room and his magic _roars_.

The six words _burn_ behind his eyes as he flips open the book to the pages about the grims and starts to read, barely aware as the hours fly by. Sunlight kisses his windowsill and yet he still thinks and reads and tries to make sense of the creatures before eventually passing out on his bed.

He wakes up at night with fear in his heart.

The cloak - not in his trunk, never in his trunk, _safe with him_ \- sings in his mind, telling him that he has to do something. He has to find the other two, the wand, the ring. The Deathly Hallows.

He doesn't know where to find them but he has to. He remembers - though not of his own accord - the picture in the mirror, the strange mirror that showed him things he didn't even know existed yet.

But now they're all he can think about when he isn't desperately focused on something _anything_ else.

He doesn't know what to do. It shouldn't have been like this.

He was the Boy-Who-Lived, future destroyer of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He was supposed to be the leader of the light, the person who never went dark, never went evil, never tampered with death.

Until death tampered with _him_ and left him to handle the consequences of having its magic inside his forehead.

He barely gets his chores down and the food never sates him. THough it gets harder and harder every time, he steals two pancakes out of the bunch he cooks every morning and swallows them nearly whole.

Aunt Petunia hasn't caught him but it has gotten close. She wakes up earlier to prepare her meals for Aunt Marge, buying large bottles of expensive wines that he knows will be drunk in a single night by Aunt Marge.

She likes her wine. A lot.

But he manages to both survive his chores and his stomach, pushing any other thoughts out of his mind.

The day comes and he disappears up to his room come morning, tired from the chores but his stomach at least full enough. He will have to sneak once Aunt Marge was here but that was fine.

He barely has closed his door when Aunt Marge barrels through the door, armed with a bunch of bags and attached to a snarling pitbull. She twitters and lunges immediately for the wine, leaving the bags in Uncle Vernon's rather annoyed hands.

Aunt Petunia smiles and talks over pouring her something expensive. He smirks at their misfortune and disappears into his room.

He gets to read and not deal with Aunt Marge in the slightest. Rather a perfect summer for him.

He's already read his book so many times and so he looks over the shelves lining his room, the spines of books staring out to him. With a gentle smile on his face, he grabbed _The Hobbit_ and settled down on his bed to read.

xXx

Aunt Marge leaves two days early when Ripper destroys the telly in the living room. Dudley's agonized shouts yank him into wakefulness even through the floor, and he sits with one ear against the wall.

Marge apologizes but it sounds fake from twenty feet away and ten up. Her heart isn't in it and she's cooing to her pitbull, trying to get him to stop biting on the antenna. He barks once and doesn't stop.

Dudley is furious and is practically ripping his way out of Uncle Vernon's grip, howling threats and insults. Aunt Petunia twitters at him but it has no effect, and Aunt Marge is out of the house in the next three hours.

It's almost calm then, at least for the next couple of days. Dudley can't spend his time endlessly sitting in front of the blaring box of shows and so has to leave the house, going off to terrorize at will. Uncle Vernon is at work and Aunt Petunia gossips about neighbors, lounging around in her perfectly clean house.

He cleaned the house, he deserves the credit, but doesn't even think of correcting her simpering words to the neighbors.

But it's calm. Everything is calm.

Calm is bad. He needs a distraction to keep his mind off-

Just to keep his mind off. He won't even think the words in case he crumbles back into the invasive _desire_.

So, that night, after he finishes the chores, he sneaks out of the house, armed with his sandwich and the smallest size of Dudley's old shoes, along with a nice coat against the gentle cold.

The moon brings no literal warmth but it still sings in his bones, warm and silver and brilliant. It's a full moon and he loves the light that spills over the ground in front of him, lighting his way.

He doesn't do far, just sitting on a swing of the nearest playground. It's old and creaky, the joints drenched in the scarlet red of rust. It squeaks heavily every time he moves but the sound is comforting, in its own little way. This was where he went to escape before he knew about magic, about hallows, about grims.

A quiet place, all to himself.

His magic feels at rest and he remembers an hour in that he doesn't have his cloak, doesn't have this silver fabric tucked near to some part of his body. He's separate for the first time in nearly a year, its quiet hums and hisses silent in his mind. He'll be sure to get an earful when he comes back ( _since when did it scold him_ ) but for now, he's alone and happy and serene.

Quiet.

When he creeps back to the house in the bare dredges of morning, he feels more at peace than any other time in his life.

xXx

Uncle Vernon comes home furious one day, shouting off angry words about something that happened that morning. He comes home in the evening, right before he wakes up for his chores, so he's able to listen to nearly everything.

Someone came up to him, checked the license plate of his car, and then talked to him about a boy he left behind at a train station. The man did nothing, just reminded him, but the foul mood it left him in is more destructive than the man could ever have hoped for. It's all he can do but pray that he can get the window open fast enough if Uncle Vernon eventually gets angry enough.

But Aunt Petunia calms him down, and he doesn't show his face around any of them for a week.

The man may have been trying to help, but he didn't know _how_. Talking to Uncle Vernon, no matter how politely or threateningly, isn't going to work.

They don't know how to _save him_.

So he'll have to do it himself.

xXx

Turns out, he hasn't actually come up with a plan by the time the end of summer rolls around. Coming up with a way to escape to escape thirteen years of hell and prison doesn't appear overnight, as he is loathe to find. But everything's fine because the Dursley's still don't know he can't use magic and they fear the grim they think is still there and he's dumped off at King's Cross.

Hermione runs up to him before he even gets inside their compartment, proudly wielding a new owl, one with dark grey feathers that's nearly twice the size of her head. The thing looks malevolent and clacks its talons threateningly but Hermione just cooes and brushes a hand over its feathers. She talks sadly about an orange cat that would have been perfect, but she wanted to send messages to her family at let them send her some back. Its name is Archimedes and he fears that it might start attacking deer instead of just mice.

The bloody thing is _terrifying_.

Ron shows up before long but there's someone else already in their compartment, eyes closed and clothes ragged.

And also older than them. A lot older. Hermione spots his name on an equally worn trunk overhead.

Remus J Lupin.

They shrug off the sting of the end of a tradition, at least for this year, and go into the compartment next to theirs. It's just as welcoming and soon they sink back into their rhythm, talking excitedly about everything and anything they can remember about what they learned or experienced. Ron goes on and on about Egypt and when he's finished, they ask him hundreds of questions about everything under the sun. It's brilliant and they all enjoy the gentle small talk that comes easily.

The train rumbles into motion and they keep talking but then-

It stops. Everything stops.

The train groans before windows start frosting over, lights flickering before going dim. Nobody talks, breath hissing out in a pale silver mist.

But then, as the train creaks once and doors open, something in his mind magic bursts to life.

There is something here that is not human. It doesn't shriek threats like Voldemort, doesn't howl and snarl like the grim, doesn't thrum in his mind like the hallows. It's something different but it's _death_.

Something is coming on the train full of schoolchildren and it _reeks_ of _death_.

His heart skips a beat in his chest.

Hermione slowly gets to her feet, standing warily. Her entire posture displays uncertainty like a beacon of light in the darkness of the compartment.

But there are whispers of _lumos_ and gentle silver lights spill over the cushions of the seats and the wood of the floor. They don't see anything except for more people peeking out of compartments, eyes wide.

The chill of the dark grew stronger, and he could almost swear that eyes far too intelligent glinted from the shadows. He barely manages to catch the terrible word of the grim on the tip of his tongue.

Something passed in front of their door, dark and furious, and wrenches it open. A hand as black as death reaches -

Someone screams -

He's falling -

Dark.

He comes back slowly, eyes fluttering even as he stills. If the thing of _death_ is still here then he has to be ready to fight and he can't be caught unawares, not again not like last time with those voices -

Dumbledore stands over him, warm smile directly in place. He looks so at place in the Hospital Wing, white beard blending in with the white walls, and his bright gold robes the only spot of color.

He says something along the lines of welcoming him back but he doesn't care. Because his mind screams with renewed strength, shrieking and pounding on the front of his skull in a furious rage.

Because in Dumbledore's hand is a wand. Smooth, slightly curved, looking more like a regular branch than a wand.

But he recognizes it, and the _power_ and _strength_ and _magic_ thrums in his mind in the way that only the cloak has managed to do so far.

The wand of the Deathly Hallows, the Elder Wand. The one thing he's been searching for.

Dumbledore mentions something about dementors - the creatures that attacked him - being posted around the school for the rest of the year, but he can't focus. Something mutters _whispers_ yells _screams_ in his mind.

Because finally, the cloak actually speaks for the first inside his mind, the tone soft and gentle, neither female nor male, yet full of a fiery, sparking passion-

 _Mine. Ours. Mine._

He shudders it away but can't help how even when he replies to Dumbledore's questions and fire back some of his own, his eyes drift down to land directly on the wand.

He's found the second of the Deathly Hallows.

But it's in the possession of the most powerful wizard in the entire Wizarding World. The wizard who had struck fear into Voldemort's heart and protected Hogwarts for longer than he had been alive.

But the cloak didn't accept no for an answer, and he knew he'd have to find a way to take it.

He had to find out about the grim. He had to save himself from the Dursley's hell. He had to steal a wand from Albus Dumbledore.

At this point, it wouldn't be Voldemort that killed him.

xXx

Buckbeak doesn't like him.

He clicks his beak in an agitated fashion, talons clawing at the ground. His wings beat the sky and Hagrid, perhaps wisely, doesn't pick him to come forward and pet the beast that can somehow sense the magic inside his head.

None of them make a fuss to try and see the hippogriffs when even the famous Boy-Who-Lived won't approach them. Malfoy makes some sort of a fuss that dies quickly when no one pays attention to him, and so they leave the message without having learned much and without much satisfaction.

Hagrid looks almost broken-hearted as they leave, and the next lesson is much less enthusiastic.

But the next class is when things get interesting. Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by Remus Lupin. He was the man asleep in their compartment and also the one who chased away the dementors, which is as good of a sign as any.

He is a tall, greying man who doesn't look over thirty yet the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. Their first lesson begins in an abandoned classroom with an enormous wardrobe rattling against one wall.

They all eye it mistrustingly. The last time there was something alive in their Defense class, it was Lockhart with his cornish pixies, and that didn't end well for anyone, least of all them.

But then he launches into a spiel about worst fears and boggarts, and they all look much more interested.

He, however, is curious. What will he see?

Will he see his actual worst fear, or will he see whatever the cloak decides to shove into his mind?

He's slipped into the middle of the line just in case, seeing how it goes for those in front of him.

Neville tackles Snape and oh, doesn't that bode well for how the students are treated in Hogwarts. People would have a field day if that got out to the public, though by the boy's stricken look, it doesn't seem like he'll be telling anyone anytime soon.

Ron gets a spider and sets it off with rollerskates. Parvati gets a snake. Seamus gets a banshee.

And then, eventually, it's his turn, and even though Lupin lunges in front of him, the boggart changes.

It's him. But three of him.

One of them looks nearly exactly like he is now, short with ratty clothes. The cloak glitters on his back, but it doesn't sing. No, it thunders and roars, furious and dangerous. Its glow is not comforting and it seems to burn through his clothes and skin.

The next looks older, clothes too small and ripped down the middle. The wand sits in his wand but its tip is pointed toward his own stomach instead of his enemy's, the edge glittering a dangerous green. Anger thrums through his mind.

Last of him is tall but not by much, only the scraps of a robe curled over his shoulders. The ring is perched on his hand, which is currently wrapped around his own throat. His eyes are wide and bugged, choking, but the ring shines with a fearsome intensity that scares him even through the fakeness.

Lupin gets in front and it changes to a full moon before changing again to a white balloon that speeds through the room before ending back up in the wardrobe. No one speaks, heads tilted in confusion.

 _What was that?_

But he understands, he understands where they do not.

The three hallows all sitting within his reach. But they are not together, they are not reunited, they are not made one.

They are not as they want to be, and they punish him for it.

It is a fear he has not experienced in a very long time, since he last saw the glimmers of too _bright_ too _intelligent_ too _deathly_ eyes that pinned him like a dart to the stone walls of the chamber.

The cloak is not a cloak. It burns even through the fabric of his bag, brilliant and fiery as it murmurs sweet nothings in his mind.

He is not a person but a body for the cloak, for the wand, for the ring, and he feels that _that_ is his greatest fear.

xXx

Neville shows him a paper, and he suddenly understands why the teachers have been treating him like glass ready to be shattered. Sirius Black - dangerous criminal that escaped Azkaban to come back and kill him like he did his parents.

The idea? It's laughable. With a single word from him Black will be _dead_ , no matter the fancy dementors the Ministry decided were necessary.

He can't focus on the one escaped man trying to kill him. Something much closer to him is already trying to do just that.

So he laughs off McGonagall's concerns, twists out of Lupin's, and even manages to dodge Dumbledore's talk of protection and staying the castle. He has no intention of leaving with those monsters outside.

The wand is inside, and so that's where he is. Hermione scowls over his lack of interest in schoolwork but he always turns his papers in on time and uses his sheer magical strength to power through spells instead of practicing. It lands him EEs instead of Os like Hermione wants but it's fine.

The cloak gets more and more impatient until nearly every night he's sitting on his bed, red rimming his eyes as he looks through spell books that might possibly hold something strong enough to stop Dumbledore.

He doesn't find anything and it hurts. If Hermione only knew, then she could find something as fast as lightning.

 _No no nonono_

And so he doesn't tell her, and the slight heat on his back disappears.

But when he's not reading he's sneaking through the corridors, head beneath the cloak and eyes searching. There is nothing to help him, nothing he can use. Hisses spill from his lips too quiet for anyone to hear.

The night is too late, and the only way he'll be able to function is if he falls asleep in about two minutes, so he heads back to the Fat Lady. He arrives there, password on the tip of his lips when-

Oh.

Hello.

There's a man there, ragged and thin and dirty and angry, a list of paper gripped in his hand. He shrieks but with his voice quiet, demanding to be let in.

This must be Sirius Black, the evil escaped convict with blood on his hands and thrill for more.

Welp.

He sure as hell wasn't confronting him in a darkened corridor with no one knowing where he was.

So instead he quietly tiptoed back over to Professor McGonagall's office, knocking as loudly as he could with the cloak tucked in his bag. It takes long enough that he almost goes away to find another teacher but she eventually opens the door, bleary-eyed and confused and dressed in a bathrobe.

He explains quickly. She disappears for a second and comes back ready with robes on and her wand drawn.

They creep back together, only to find the portrait open and the Fat Lady frowning thunderously, angrily saying how she didn't _want_ to let him in but he had to password and Dumbledore's wards made her.

He waits inside while McGonagall goes inside. There are a few shouts and lights bare into existence, but quickly she walks back outside with a smug expression and a limp Sirius Black floating out behind her.

Gryffindor students look at her with more than just traces of awe and wonder in their eyes.

She's about to become one of the most respected teachers at school for the next couple of months. Snape doesn't hold a candle to her famous glare, and she sends many students scurrying away.

But he falls asleep quickly, knowing he'll have to come up with ways to fend off questions on why he was both awake, how he found Black, and why he didn't fight him because he's the Boy-Who-Lived!

The last one is going to come from some form of newspaper, he knows.

The cloak murmurs ideas in his mind as he drifts off to a gentle, soft, and dreamless sleep.

xXx

Sirius Black manages to escape his 'Kiss-on-sight' rating, but only barely. The Ministry is rearing up to kill him when they can't find his trial file, and that sends off a whole new bunch of problems.

The trial is scheduled for three days, and everyone expects it to be a finger-snap and done thing.

But then he's innocent.

It changes many things, and the Wizarding World flies into a fury about the pureblood lord locked in Azkaban for no crime. People go up in arms and the Ministry has no choice but to free him with a very substantial prize for his containment and the gift of something they can give him.

He wants the Secret Keeper for the Potter's house, Peter Pettigrew, and then custody of the Boy-Who-Lived.

 _More_ people go up in arms.

He's not sure what he wants. Does he want to go with the man who wants to kill a man after being put into Azkaban for allegedly doing that very thing? He remembers the wild form and ratty hair.

But this could be his escape from the Dursleys.

Is this the man who could actually give him an escape or plunge him into another bout of prison?

He doesn't know, he can't know, the cloak hums quiet words in his mind, the six that burn behind his eyes. The boggart flares back to life.

It doesn't matter what happens to him as long as he gets the wand from Dumbledore. Nothing. Else. Matters.

But it _does_

* * *

 **Hey guys! I'm done with another chapter!**

 **Also, let me tell you how wonderful it is to have a story that is actually generating reviews and people reading it and communities. It's so nice to hear people read and like my writing. I love hearing all of you guys talking to me about this and telling me about what you liked and didn't!**

 **Anyway. Onto more important things - the story.**

 **Sirius Black was found by Harry and then given up! So he's free and Peter is being found out and everything's falling apart, oh no! Do you guys think that Harry should move in with Sirius even after everything the man has and hasn't done? Definitely a curious question.**

 **And also, Snape - while he hates Lupin - the man did nothing wrong other than exist and so Snape wasn't angry enough to give out the fact that he's a werewolf. It just didn't come to him. So guess what might happen next year?**

 **Hermione wasn't ever found out for using a Time Turner and they never saved anyone because Black was found and Buckbeak never attacked anyone. So everything's just fine and dandy.**

 **BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY - Harry found the Elder Wand. Even more importantly, the cloak found the wand. All Harry needs to do is steal it from the most powerful wizard of the current time.**

 **I'm sure he can do it as soon as possible, right? How could he even?**

 **But anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


	4. Year Four

People don't notice - or talk - about anything in Islington, Claremont Square. It's a bad place that only gets worse when they try to mention robberies and assaults. Speaking up means becoming a victim themselves so people stay quiet, accepting to muffle screams with old stereo boxes and wash away blood stains in the next rains.

Number 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place are no exception to that fact, two families on the verge of bankruptcy and already in the deep end of poverty are keeping their house by the skin of their teeth. It's always been strange that there's no number 12 in between them but to talk to the manager who barely lets them in is death within itself so they just brush it off as either a mistake or something from the past and move on.

But number 12 sits there and though muggles and wizards alike do not notice it, it still exists.

The famed house of the Blacks, protected under the Fidelius Charm. No one knows who holds the secret to where centuries of knowledge lies except for one mad elf, murmuring the words over and over again to a shrieking portrait. He hardly remembers his name except for when his Mistress screams it, speaking of the precious heirlooms he has gathered in front of her for her pleasure. He polishes them every day, surviving off of the innate magic of the house and spell he's under.

 _Cleaner cleaner cleaner_ and so he cleans them until his rags shred away and he scrubs with everything he has left because he must keep his Mistress happy, though it is not the last request Master Regulus had it will do.

The locket sits in front of the pile, strong and fierce and hissing gentle suggestions into his mind until he cleans it without even being told, brushing over the emerald green S in the glass casing.

Master Regulus told him it was evil, but the locket tells him he is everything but. It is powerful and strong and will solve every problem he has.

But he dares not slip it over his head because if nothing else, as stark and raving mad as he is now, he is still a loyal elf to his master.

Though its suggestions still slither through his ears in ways he has not experienced since Master Regulus' tattoo.

But then a Black calls to him, one Narcissa Black with panic on her mind but coolness in her body. She commands him to come and he does, appearing in her mansion with as much saneness as he can project.

She needs him to find her a soul container for her Lord - a horcrux. She needs a horcrux to save them all, and as the only surviving Black who is in power and old enough he must do as she commands.

It's almost funny how she thinks that because she says so that she is the only surviving Black. Nasty, blood-traitor Sirius is still alive and he is under little no to no command to follow her suggestions.

He nods, goes back to Grimmauld Place, and then sits in the hallway, ignoring his Mistress.

A horcrux, one to bring back the Dark Lord. A horcrux indeed. His black does not fully recognize Narcissa Malfoy as a Black any longer but he does feel the gentle, soft, easy-to-resist pull to follow her instructions.

But he remembers Master Regulus and his panicked thoughts of the Dark Lord, doing his final trick with the locket to try and save the entire wizarding world. And though his master is long dead a master dead is better than a lord living.

So he clears away the priceless heirlooms, setting them back on their dusty shelves and cupboards with as much care as he can muster with his shaking hands. The world seems to spin before his eyes but still he does his work for three days straight, finally cleaning the house and sucking up the last of the magic he can pull from this old, old, dead, dead house in a muggle land.

And then he sets the locket before his mistress, ignoring her shrieking words for the first time in forever, and finally focuses on the words.

It takes him a fair while but he understands the hisses and shrieks and threats for what they are. Lies in the form of the Lord Voldemort - killer of his Master Regulus. His master's murderer.

Mind made up, he snaps his fingers.

Fiendfyre bursts from his palms and eats through the house, consuming the locket in a crackle of pain.

That cold night, a house burns quickly before muggles set it out. They find no remains inside and the owner finds no recollection of it but he's a drunk and no one cares. They take down the rubble and build another in its place.

Inside, a portrait is swallowed whole by flames and another horcrux is burned but also an elf much madder than his age dies happy.

xXx

He wakes up happily, safely tucked away into his room. The Dursleys have decided to let him alone, keep things much the same as they did the last summer. He comes out to work at night and as long as he gets his chores done and doesn't interact with any of his neighbors, he's free to do whatever he wants.

As long as it isn't eating their food. Or watching their telly. Or showing his face to theirs ever.

But that's fine, and now that he can only prepare for breakfast, mow the yard, and trim the flowerbeds he's fine. It's brilliant.

He hasn't had any contact with the Wizarding World, which is by far the most surprising thing that has happened to him this summer. Sirius Black had seemed to be balancing on the edge of sanity and he guessed the man would have lunged, teeth bared, for the chance to take him to his some sort of home.

Ron hasn't contacted him.

Neither has Hermione.

No Daily Prophet, and even though he sent Hedwig off to Ron's house again to avoid his uncle's ire he expected _something_ to be sent to him, even if it was from the Ministry to inform him that he was a good-for-nothing brat who only cared about himself instead of the Wizarding World.

The world doesn't reach out to him, but this time he's glad. Last year and the one before that he would have been upset, even angry, to have been cut off and locked away but now he welcomes it.

Welcome the fact that his friends will not have to see him as he spends every night pouring over endless papers searching for any way that he could steal something from Dumbledore.

The idea of simply donning the cloak and sneaking into his room is cast out immediately. Dumbledore would not be defeated by something as small as invisibility and a stunner if he had lived to be this old and this strong and this respected. Protection charms must layer every inch of his room.

There's the idea of setting himself injured and then, when he's in the Hospital Wing and Dumbledore possibly visits him again, simply grabbing the wand. He could defend himself with it if only he had his hand around it.

But no, the man would never trust him and as powerful as the cloak is he couldn't hide from the man who has everything.

He couldn't overpower the man in any sort of fight, even with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of Gryffindor behind him.

There's no way he's going to be able to take the wand with any of those tactics so he goes deeper, sinking into the books lining his walls. It took him only one day to learn how to pick a lock and he had taken his trunk back up to his room quickly. And since none of his relatives ever checked on him or his cupboard, they have no idea that he spends every night learning about magic.

It's almost fitting, in a way.

But the cloak shrieks _not enough not enough_ in his mind and he knows that its patience has worn out. One year of knowing where the thing is and not getting it and now whenever he puts on the cloak it is much warmer than before, though it is nothing like the boggart, where it burned _through_ him.

It is keeping its distance but not for long. If he doesn't find a way to the wand soon, he won't make it to next year.

But that's fine, because as his ideas get more and more dangerous but closer every time before he can find some way against it the cloak murmurs sweet words in his mind and he knows he is close.

He has to explore what it can help him with. If the cloak has given him something in his mind other than sensing death and souls and the grim then he can use it to find _steal_ the wand and it will be happy.

So he sits on his bed one cold night where the moon is hidden behind the clouds and _asks_.

The answer is both helpful and not.

It can turn him invisible. It beat back the soul in his mind and replaced it with itself. It allows him to summon those of death taking.

But nothing other than that. It needs its brothers to be more powerful, to give him everything he needs.

He shoves away its taunting voice and goes back to thinking. He has the power of death in his forehead.

 _Chalí_ is the word he won't mutter until he is close to death but there must be something else than he can use, something within the magic that is much too close to his soul and mind and magic.

But he can sense something stirring in his mind, something that came alive not only when the shrieking threats of Voldemort's magic were near but also when he had held his hand over the glasses of poisons in his first year. He can sense death around in, and though he doesn't remember it much he can feel a vibration in the air, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as wands raise with ill intent.

But it's too much too fast and he falls asleep as the sun peeks over the horizon and tries not to focus on it.

xXx

Someone shows up at his house the next day.

He's asleep but the pounding on the door is almost too loud to ignore. He's a light sleeper anyway from his many years and that must be why he shoots to attention, eyes wide and ready.

It's not because his mind _shrieks_ to attention, hearing the hum of death where it shouldn't be.

He's awake, dressed, and poised by the door by the time his relatives get to the heavily knocking person. They open it to Uncle Vernon's irate yells that sputter off into stunned silence, gasping lightly.

He tries to peer through the window but the person has casually stepped inside, the other figure trailing behind them trotting through the door with what he can guess a load of sheepishness.

Words trickle up but he can't hear them through the walls and the floors, though he presses his ear to the drywall. Nothing comes through decipherable, and he tried to convince himself it was just a family guest.

It didn't work.

And so when his name echoes through the house, shouted by a furious Uncle Vernon, he isn't surprised.

He pushes the door open and begins to creep down the stairs, responding as mildly as he could. The voices in the living room cut off quickly.

When he finally emerges into the room it is to the sight of a rather terrified Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and a passed out Dudley, laying out on the couch with his mouth gaping wide open.

And Sirius Black, mane combed back with still with eyes too wild and grin too wide, smiles at him with too much delight in his face. Remus Lupin stands awkwardly by his side, back against the wall.

He nearly freezes but inched forward the last few feet, sitting gently on the couch next to Aunt Petunia, though he keeps his distance far away to let her still feel some form of comfort in this not-very-comfortable time.

Threatened by wizards in her own home.

He can't imagine how she must feel, and the thin, panted breaths escaped her lips are proof enough.

Sirius nearly explodes on him, asking how he was in much too happy tones that filled the entire room. Remus is more quiet, softly confirming his identity and then leaving Sirius to the talking.

But as time goes on, the picture becomes obviously clear.

Sirius wants him to leave this muggle house and then go live with him on some remote island with Remus. And he isn't quite so sure about how he felt about that, even with the warm smile.

Because beneath his skin he can _feel_ something, something dark. It isn't like the grim, all eyes too bright too intelligent too deathly but similar. It takes the same shape but with none of the bite.

Remus glitters nearly the same way, death-but-not lying beneath his skins. It feels _wrong_ and he doesn't know how to describe it, has been trying to ignore it ever since last year with the man as his professor.

But he understands what they are saying.

They want him to go to the Ministry of Magic tomorrow and officially sign over guardianship of himself to this stranger who he hasn't met other than when he was breaking into his dorm.

Remus also wanted a part of that, but he didn't say anything.

But Sirius laughs and tells him more even as his eyes burn with an anger that he doesn't deserve to have. He spits words about ow dirty dark death eaters don't agree with him having custody of his own godson and he'll be damned if Lucius Malfoy takes his godson away from him!

He doesn't know what to say.

It's coming too fast, too strong, and the cloak hums to him from upstairs words he can't pick out.

Sirius pleads with him, Remus a silent stance behind him marked with a smile and a warm welcome.

He doesn't _understand_.

Does he want to go or does he not, does the cloak want to go or does it not, what do both of them want? Nothing makes sense and everything is swirling around in his head too fast to think.

But he doesn't get a chance to mention anything when the door is pushed open again and Dumbledore walks in. He takes the time to jump to his feet and carefully push his relatives out of the room, helping pull Dudley away from all of the wizards. He hates them but this is hell he wouldn't wish upon anyone.

An accused serial-killer, someone who's magic thrummed softly with death, and the most powerful wizard of the century.

To a wizard, it's frightening. To a muggle, it's death.

So he sits back on the couch and Dumbledore conjures a chair and they begin to talk again.

He still doesn't understand, but Dumbledore talks about sending him to the Weasley's house for the rest of the summer where Sirius and Remus will be living and popping in and out for most of the time as well. A safe place by all of his friends where they can enjoy themselves for the summer!

It sounds much more enticing than custody and guardianship and so he agrees, climbing the stairs to pack his trunk and clothes and everything else.

The cloak is tucked close to his body as they apparate out.

xXx

It's pleasant at the Weasley's house. Bill and Charlie are new and the twins are as devious as ever but Ron is sweet and Ginny is starting to come out of her shell more and more as time goes on.

He spends most of his time outside, enjoying the warm summer air and the brilliance of the sunlight. Ron entices him to go and play Quidditch with his brothers and sister and that's even more fun, though their balls are little more than fakes with no real sentience. Charlie stands as referee and though he pretends it's a chore and reads his book, there's a smile glittering on his face.

Sirius tries to spend as much time with him as possible but they don't really click and though it takes the man a couple of days, he understands. He pulls back from overly physical and touchy to gentle conversations and laughing jokes. A few pranks but nothing he can't handle.

It's clear Sirius wants more but he holds the man at an arm's length, still confused by the accused murderer. He knows of Peter Pettigrew's death in Azkaban, only two weeks after his imprisonment.

No dementor did that, but the news never covers it except for a small footnote in the back of the Daily Prophet.

People don't talk about it, but he knows. He knows that it was Sirius and that he did it only three days after he picked him up from Dursleys house, because his magic sung with the faint surge of death.

Blood drips from Sirius Black's hands but no one ever talks about it, and the man doesn't seem to care.

The summer passes much faster with them all around him and before he knows it, its time for school to roll around again. Bill complains about one of his rune books going missing but they chalk it up to the ghoul.

Everyone is happy.

But as he sits on his bed with fingers digging blood from his palms and the cloak singing through his mind, he is not.

xXx

They head to King's Cross with little fanfare. The news sings of an attack at the Quidditch World Cup, old death eaters donning their mask and chasing poor wizards around as they just tried to enjoy their day at the famous game. There's a small footnote at the bottom of two muggles who were severely injured and how one is not expected to make it with their muggle technologies.

No one offers to help them, and they are never mentioned again. Muggles don't matter, after all.

But then they're on the train and driving off over the endless countryside, happy words bubbling to their mouths as they talk about everything and anything with Hermione. It's been a while since they've been together.

The snack lady comes and he buys his fill of delicious treats that Ron 'borrows' from and Hermione turns down.

Chocolate Frogs are a delicacy he never plans on turning down, no matter how strange it is to eat something that moves and wiggles.

They're delicious.

But the train ride is nearly over and so they all change back into their robes, picking up their wands after a summer of unuse.

Hermione quickly pulls out several new books she got and shows them. They look interesting - at least to her. Something about her studies in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, as she dropped Divination.

When they finally leave the train, it's with happy smiles and joyful expressions. It's wonderful to be back.

As they sit in the Great Hall after sorting, something becomes readily apparent as whispers spread over the crowd.

Professor Binns spot - though the ghost has never actually used it - is not empty any longer. A man sits in it.

It's an ugly man, to be absolutely clear. His eye is glass with a splotch of black for a pupil, strapped to his head with a thick leather strap that winds around his reclining hairline of grey.

A peg leg made of wood, grizzled scars littering every part of his body, and clothes straight out of the last world war.

The name Professor 'Mad-eye' Moody shoots across the room to a group of very unimpressed students. He scowls at them all, looking very much less than pleased to be there and surrounded by them.

Professor Dumbledore introduces him as their new History of Magic teacher, as Professor Binns has decided to do other things with his afterlife and wants to move on to enjoy himself.

It's a very, very far stretch, and no one really believes in. He's pretty sure he could find Binns somewhere around the castle, and wonders why in the world Professor Moody needs to be teaching.

But they all accept it, because what else can they do as just mere students in this school?

The feast goes smoothly, eating quickly and happily. The sheer amount of food is wonderful and brilliant after a summer of little food, especially the stuff that has no flavour or taste.

The treacle tart is delicious as always and he enjoys it tremendously. Hermione twitters at his poor eating habits but then smiles at them when both he and Ron grab more sweets with innocent smiles and laughs.

And then Professor Dumbledore sets back up and tells them about something much more different.

The Triwizard Tournament is coming back to Hogwarts, as well as three other wizarding schools.

Durmstrang. Beauxbeans. Hogwarts.

And Hermione hisses to him that so far two champions have died in this tournament, one right in the moment and then one after two months in a coma.

He - and Ron - are suddenly less excited about the whole thing, although it takes a while before it sinks through both of their heads that it's a bad thing.

It would be fun, but she brings up their classmates and tries to get them to imagine them lying dead on the ground.

The image only partially sinks into his mind because he's not focusing on it in the slightest. He's back at home in the brilliance of Hogwarts and his stomach is full and everything is wonderful.

At least, that's what he's trying to convince himself. The cloak burns bright in his mind as Professor Dumbledore talks and when he goes back up to his commons and tries to go to sleep quickly, it takes him a long, long time.

xXx

Professor Moody is very, very different from Professor Binns had been.

Before, it was a running joke that if you had any class work due next hour, you did it in the History of Magic class. Binns droned on and on and on without any end, pulling everything straight from the textbook without any questions asked or answered. No one learned anything and tests and finals were basically studying the textbooks and maybe begging Hermione for a few notes.

But even she, after the second year, had stopped taking complete notes. Maybe scrawled a few sentences here and there of something she thought was important he mentioned.

The only time the ghost had ever been important was when they asked him about the Chamber of Secrets, and even then his answers had been short, monotone, and not very helpful.

Professor Moody is different.

He is gruff to the point of rude and his voice is something like an english baroque spoken through a mouth filled with gravel. It was hard to listen but after the third lesson people picked it up.

His lessons consisted of him picking out every single war - goblin or otherwise - in the wizarding world and then describing it in excruciating detail that made each of them pale and suck in deep breaths. He talked about them like he had been there and never even tried to tone it down.

Problem is, that even when he focused on a lot more than Professor Binns had, he still didn't focus on everything. Only age-old wars from long-extinct families and lands that didn't affect them.

So they still take notes but they're boring little notes the man had mentioned about people killed and in what manner. Almost thankfully, the textbooks stayed more detached from it all.

But the lessons are still hard to listen to.

Professor Moody is not a good teacher, much like Professor Binns, and it's hard to imagine a year in which they don't get at least one more terrible teacher to come and teach them nonsense.

Professor Lupin is still wonderful. He focuses on creatures but this year he spills back into more spells, teaching them basic protection spells like shields and stinging hexes made to slow down opponents.

He stays carefully away from pranking spells but the twins still find a way to use physical shields and strap them to the staircases, riding the moving stairs with wild whoops of excitement.

McGonagall busts them but it's with a smile on her face.

Everyone loves Professor Lupin, and even Snape, who had hated him in the beginning, fell to casual annoyance. They never said a word to each other but people have seen Snape give him a potion in a large vial that looks horrendous but Lupin always thanks him. The man looks happier than last year as well.

There is no one, Slytherin or otherwise, that doesn't at least respect the quiet passionate man teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It's impossible to hate him.

xXx

It takes a while, a bit into school before the others come. He's been expecting it and it's rather anticlimactic when they're in the corridors and the other schools come in to present a strong, powerful front.

They - the wonderful brilliant Hogwarts students - don't think they will be impressed and then are promptly distracted by the enormous fire that is summoned by the darkly dressed Durmstrang students. They have heavy german accents that definitely works with their black leather and thick furs.

They sit with the Slytherins, and Ron nearly has a fit when he realizes that Victor Krum is there. He's apparently a really big Quidditch star or something that always catches the snitch in every game.

Or something like that.

The Beauxbean students - all dressed in pale blue robes that seem entirely too thin for Scottish air - march in with more softness than the Durstang students but steel is still in their steps.

They mingle around the room but most go to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, almost completely ignoring the Gryffindors. And by the other's almost disgruntled expressions, they don't appreciate it.

But that's fine. His forehead doesn't thrum near any of them except for its regular gentleness, and that means everyone is fine. He doesn't much care for these strange new students and while the tournament sounds brilliant and interesting, he doesn't want to die and he can't even compete.

So everything's fine. He goes back up to his commons with a full stomach and a happy mind, surrounded by the pleasant magic of Hogwarts.

xXx

The cloak wakes him up the day before the goblet chooses the names. It burns through his mind from under his pillow and he shoots to attention, eyes wide.

 _Death death stop him you_

He can't understand it but he knows he has to do something. There is something happening and he has to stop it.

So he dons the cloak, sneaks out of the room, and wanders through the halls, following the pull on his magic.

This is the first time that the cloak has actually taken a hold of him. He's moving of his own free will but something has a string wrapped around his forehead and is pulling him along gently.

Not gently by anyone else's standards, but for the cloak, it's practically tender. It isn't a soft thing.

He eventually goes into the Great Hall, tiptoeing inside, and he sees someone leaving the room.

Nothing is recognizable, all tucked away in a dark black cloak and a lingering scent of a potion. They're tall with broad shoulders and thundering footsteps but then they're gone, fleeing away up the stairs.

The goblet gleams in the middle of the room, gentle blue flames lapping over the edge of its silver and jewel-studded surface. It looks so serene in the middle of the hall, the age line flickering around it.

He doesn't know what to think but still the cloak tugs him forward so he unpeels the cloak from around his head and edges forward until he's right at the edge of the line, eyes wide and reflected with blue lights.

It doesn't make sense.

The footsteps and build of the person were much too large to be any student unless they were some enormous seventh year from one of the other schools he didn't know about. So it was an adult.

An adult that had fled the room. The room that held the goblet which decided the champions of a death tournament.

So yes, he is rather worried.

The goblet burns gently, seemingly without a care. But he needs to find the paper that had been tossed in. If the person had cast a spell he will never be able to uncast it. He doesn't have the power-

He freezes. Without another word, he turns around and heads back up to Dumbledore's head office.

It takes the man a while to wake up but he explains that he was wandering around the school, nervous for the next day, and then he found someone - an adult - running from the Great Hall.

They walk back down together and Dumbledore messes with the goblet, casting powerful bursts of light with his wand.

He has to dig his fingers into his palm to try and stop himself from lunging forward, pushed by the cloak, to grab the wand away from Dumbledore. He manages it - but it's a close thing.

Then the goblet coughs out a brilliant tongue of blue fire with a single piece of paper on the top, and Dumbledore catches it quickly before peering over it. His eyes widen as he reads and his fingers tighten on the crisp white paper. He's concerned with how angry the headmaster looks.

Dumbledore grimly hands it over.

 _Harry Potter. Evans Academy._

He holds the paper too tight in his hands as he is escorted back up to the Gryffindor common rooms, and he almost manages to convince himself that he is still safe in his home of Hogwarts.

xXx

The next day, the goblet spits out three names to the cheers of every student from every school.

Viktor Krum from Durmstrang. Ron calls out that of course he was chosen, he's a Quidditch superstar! Hermione brings up the fact that people have died and Ron looks less excited.

Fleur Delacour from Beauxbeans. She's pretty and gorgeous and looks absolutely stunning with her silvery blonde hair as she stands and blows a kiss to the students of the hall as she claims her prize.

Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts. Ron looks almost put out that it wasn't one of the Gryffindors but the tall blonde was powerful and strong and no one was denying that, though he looked tiny next to Krum.

They stand in front of the Great Hall, happily shouting out cheers and being generally excited. No one brings up the death rate, and everyone seems content to pretend everything is fine.

Which it is.

Because he's not in this stupid tournament and the piece of paper is tucked in the bottom of his trunk.

They're allowed to suffer and maybe die because they chose it. He won't because he didn't pick to and whoever put his name in there will not get away with forcing him into this deathtrap.

So he sits back and claps for the champions and wonders with his friends what the different quests will be.

No one comes up with an idea so they all sit back down and finish off their delicious food.

It's brilliant to not be the center of attention for once.

xXx

The first task dawns bright and early and everyone is excited. The stands have been built up behind the Black Lake and are absolutely enormous with tall towers that surge upward for teachers and parents.

Classes are canceled and everyone runs out to get the best seats they can find. He manages to find them three somewhere in the middle and while there's one incredibly tall Ravenclaw boy in front of them the rest are all short enough that they can see easily into the arena.

The three Champions arrive in their tent and then Ludo Bagman comes out with a wide smile on his face and a wand at his throat. Everything he says can be heard as he is the announcer and so even if they miss anything in whatever will be happening, he'll just tell them all.

When they drag the first dragon out, everyone is stunned.

But then they burst into excited cheers as eggs are loaded out into a small nest and a single golden egg is displayed to everyone before being placed in the very middle of the nest. Ludo announces that the Champions have to do is find a way to take the golden egg from the nesting dragons.

Cedric comes out first to face an enormous green Swedish Short-Snout. His eyes widen at the dragon but he looks prepared. His wand comes out, aimed at a large rock next to him, and he twists it wildly before shouting something.

The rock melts down to become a large golden retriever, which happily barks and starts to prance around the arena. The dragon immediately focuses on it, tail thrashing and head tilting to one side.

Cedric sneaks around and nearly manages to get the egg before the dragon loses interest and faces him. He manages to grab the egg and cast a faltering shield charm as dragon fire washed around him.

But he was fine, though singed. Madam Pomfrey healed him up quickly and then he was awarded with nearly full points. A few were marked down because of his injury but other than that, he's fine.

Fleur goes next and she marches onto the field with the look of a warrior. The dragon eyes her contemptuously before she immediately flicks her wand out. With some sort of fancy dance that involves her twirling to duck behind a rock, she cast a gentle blue spell at the dragon's face.

It falls asleep.

No one says a word. It's definitely on;y the verge of sleep, twitching and shifting but its eyes are closed and she takes the opportunity to run forward full tilt to grab the egg, hands wrapping around its golden surface.

Until the dragon snores, catch her skirt on fire, and when she sets it out with a burst of water the dragon wakes back up.

She flees the arena before it can find her.

Nearly full points again, one more than Cedric as she wasn't injured by the fire. They're all being quite fair, though the Durmstrang headmaster has a rather disgruntled expression on his face.

Krum runs out and without allowing any sort of fanfare from his fans he just immediately launches a sickly yellow curse at his enormous red Chinese Fireball. It smacks it right in the eyes and Ludo screams out congratulation on hitting the dragon right away before it had even noticed his presence.

But the dragon flies into a rage as it is blinded, shrieking terrible hisses that have the entire audience covering their ears and wincing with sympathy.

Krum runs into to grab the egg but the dragon nearly tramples him, squishing eggs under its talons. It roars out in agony, still unable to see anything.

He gets last place for not only injuring himself but also crushing several priceless dragon eggs, and he walks out looking as annoyed as his headmaster. But he's still alive and as his fans crowd around him, he takes the opportunity to flee.

They all laugh around and head back to the castle, talking about who they think will win. It's nice and most of them vote for Cedric for school pride, though Ron is dead set on Krum winning the whole thing. They laugh at that as well and everything seems happy, and no one thinks of death anymore.

Because yes, there were dragons, but there were also dragon handlers on every side of the arena with wands drawn and Dumbledore himself in the audience and then many professors ready to defend if needed. This may not be the safest place but it's safe enough to keep them all alive.

xXx

People start talking of a Yule Ball and Professor McGonagall starts dancing lessons, but he doesn't go to a single one of them, too busy sitting in his room with the cloak murmuring tainted encouragement and his nails ripping blood from his palms.

The nights are long and unending.

xXx

The second task in mind-numbingly boring. There's not much to watch after they do their spells. Fleur and Cedric both did the same spell, the bubblehead charm, which just inflated a strange blue-green sphere around each of their heads. They waddled out in their swimwear, looking very strange and alien.

Krum was more intriguing. He must have at least partially mastered the animagus magic, because with a concentrated face and no visible wand movement his upper half transformed into that of a shark.

It definitely got some cheers, and he dove powerfully into the water and went straight under.

But after that, it was just watching cold water without anything to focus on. The most boring thing that had happened so far in his years of schooling, and he almost desperately wishes for a book or something.

But then Fleur resurfaces, pushed to the top by a merperson who scowls at the crowd and immediately disappears under. She is pulled from the water bearing long cuts and dangerous-looking patches of blood. He chest does move, however faint. People scream for her.

She is fine.

Krum comes next, rearing out of the water with his shark head fading away. He holds another Durmstrang student, one who gasps, looks around, and immediately starts to swim towards shore with powerful, strong strokes. She looks like she would be the type to tackle a bear and win.

Cedric comes last, just barely out of the time limit. He pulls a soaking Cho Chang out of the water with a smile and swims back toward shore. Of course, he pushes her out first before him. A real sweetheart, and that's without a single drop of resentment. The boy could charm a dementor.

They receive points. Fleur gets a few for her correct use of the bubble head charm and good intentions, but failing to receive her hostage - a girl that must be her sister, pulled up by the merpeople - knocks her down greatly. Krum gets top points with a few taken away for his not complete mastery of the animagus charm, though they're few. It's bloody difficult to use it. Cedric gets a fair amount, only a little less than Krum for being late.

People head back to the castle, murmuring excitedly about what the third task will be. No one knows.

xXx

Crouch is found n the forest, raving mad, by Krum. People take his word with a pound of salt until the man himself charges out in broad daylight, shrieking and firing off curses, before abruptly disappearing back inside the cover of the trees.

Despite their best efforts, no one can find him again, and Percy Weasley steps in as a judge.

xXx

The third task is nearly as boring as the second in the beginning. Of course the hedges are incredible to see and within the first couple of minutes, people notice them shifting inside the maze, changing locations.

The champions look suitably nervous but still they march in, Krum first. Then Cedric. Then Fleur.

But after that, it's boring again. The people planning the events did _not_ think things out clearly. Students and teachers and adults shuffle in the audience, staring at the maze despite nothing to be seen.

Red sparks fire up, and Fleur is quickly brought in and out, robes ripped clean down the side. She babbles about the hedge attacking her as her headmaster brings her to the Hospital Wing.

They sit in silence again, no noises except for hushed conversations snaking around the field. He is getting seriously bored of their competition, no matter how interesting it sounded at the beginning.

And then seven red sparks shoot up in the air, one after another. They don't stop even as Flitwick portkeys to wherever the person is.

Cedric is brought out screaming, an enormous wound gashed over his side. It leaks blood over the field as Madam Pomfrey casts spells to save the boy's life and people recognize it as an Acromantula bite.

Dumbledore charges for the boy and for some reason, he stands as well.

But he is hidden in the crowd of surging forward people and through sheer power he forces his way through the students and arrives on the field, running forward. Professor McGonagall casts a spell to stop them from moving forward more but all he can see is Dumbledore tipping a potion into the unconscious boy's mouth, eyes drawn and worried. He looks panicked.

And in his pocket is a slightly curved piece of wood.

The word springs to his lips before he can even think not to.

 _Expelliarmus_.

The wand the wand the wand flips through the air underneath everyone's nose and flies toward him. No one notices. Dumbledore doesn't look up. McGonagall doesn't look over. Hermione doesn't move.

And when the wood hits his palm, his whole world _sings_.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Sorry this one took forever to come out. I really had to work to make this one come out.**

 **But hey, things are changing, hey? Harry's not in the Triwizard Tournament and Moody was teaching History of Magic and IDK, the cloak can talk? What else happened this chapter, again?**

 **Oh yeah.**

 **HARRY GOT THE SECOND DEATHLY HALLOW**

 **Now, I got a few reviews saying stuff like 'why doesn't Harry just use his cloak and stun Dumbledore?' I hope I covered it this chapter, but if not, here's why - the Elder Wand is one of the bloodiest objects in wizarding history. He's got to have some safety/defense thing on it.**

 **And in the middle of the third task, he was focused on saving Cedric's** _ **life**_ **. That wasn't what he was focused on.**

 **So Harry was able to take it.**

 **I wonder what will happen this summer?**

 **Also, how did you guys like what I did with Kreacher? I kind of wanted to pay homage to the guy and I feel that this would be the way he wanted to go. I know Voldemort didn't happen much this book but he's still trying to get his form. I wonder which horcrux he'll go for next…**

 **Only time will tell!**

 **I mean, I could. But I won't. I'll just write it. I'm funny like that.**

 **Also, we're more than halfway through this story! Funny thing, once I'm' done, this'll be my first completed story other than my oneshots. That's out of like twenty-seven stories. Oops.**

 **Hey, I'm committed. Maybe.**

 **Anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


	5. Year Five

He stumbles over, gasping. His eyes flare brilliant and bold behind his eyelids as the wand sits perfectly in his hand and he can hardly breathe through the magic flooding through his system.

But there are still people around and Dumbledore might need his wand soon so he lurches back toward the castle, using his pale face and heaving chest to convince people he needs to leave this area.

They let him through and he barely makes it to his bed before he starts screaming, face pressed into his pillow.

The magic in his mgic shrieks with him and the wand and the cloak surge together with joyful glee and happiness. It burns through his blood and he can hardly _breathe_

But he can't drop the wand from its frozen position in his fist and the cloak is tucked under his robes and eventually the burn boils down from excruciating agony to something more manageable. It still hurts, oh how it hurts, but he can handle it.

Finally he pulls his mind back to the forefront and forces the two sentiences of the cloak and the wand to the back. They grumble soundlessly but it still flickers with heat and without him wanting to, his hands grip the wand tighter and pull the cloak closer to his body.

He also chuckles with no mirth. It's even worse with these two inside his mind, inside his thoughts, inside him. They've taken over almost everything.

But the power is intoxicating as soon as he gets it under control. With the cloak it was a surge of freedom, ducking under everyone's eyes without notice and never having to worry about people seeing and hunting him down.

Now he welcomes those that try and find him because with the wand in his hand he will blast each and every one of them back with power that fires to the tip of his lip with reckless abandon.

He feels unstoppable, and it is not a very comfortable emotion. It is also not his, and as he pushes the wand further back in his mind it fades even more.

The two of them want him to challenge every creature before them and never stop until he can find the ring. It must be found, they must be united once again, and he is nothing more than their body to connect them.

He knows this, and still it hurts.

But now he takes the time to dig through the nw presence within him and try to find out what it can do for him. The wand springs forward, eager to prove its worth. Though it seems less happy for _him_ and more happy for what it can _do_ , and the brilliant scarlet of blood flickers through his mind.

It can cast any spell and make the power surge to new-found heights that will stop any foes. Anything he knows will be so much more powerful and all he has to do is learn the words and the movements before he can cast that spell as well.

It is hard to think about, but he knows the wand has no reason to lie. It _wants_ him to succeed.

He has to test its powers.

The rage and strength the bloodthirsty wand brings to his mind comes back, burning behind his eyes. Spells fire brilliantly to the front of his mind, all ones that can hurt can maim can kill.

But he shoves them away and instead pulls up his first year, the year that seemed so far away, the year that ended fast when he was still innocent and carefree and dancing through his studies.

The time with Ron and Hermione, when they laid in front of the fireplace and just _talked_ and laughed and played for hours on end during the weekend, with no fear of school tomorrow and no homework due. They hadn't moved even as the light outside faded to black and other students headed up to bed. It had been so wonderful and domestic and sweet and innocent and his heart bursts at the thought.

 _Expecto Patronum_.

Silver surges forward from the wand, brilliant and bursting and nothing like the silver of the cloak. Whereas that silver was soft and burning with a harsh edge, this silver dances around the room, trailing misty tendrils that lit up the darkness in a way he could not have expected but loved.

Eventually it gathers together in front of him, falling closer and closer until it comes together and forms an animal.

It is roughly his size with four paws and thick, trailing fur. It raises a head and looks directly at him, tongue lolling.

It is a grim-

He lunges back but then straightens. It is not a grim.

The eyes are too gentle, filled with none of the monsters that haunt his nights long into the shadows. He reaches forward and the large dog prances forward, wagging a tail that sends brilliant pulses of light to race around the room. It is innocent and beautiful and he has never been warmer.

The boggart, the mirror, the wand, the cloak - they all looked inside his mind and heart to stick their magic and take his thoughts. The mirror to show him what he wants most - but _his_ was crossed out and replaced with the cloak's greatest wish. The boggart showed him what the cloak cannot accept and how he will be punished for it, and he guesses that if he were to look into it again the image would be the same.

But the Patronus looks into his soul, where his true self lives, and takes out the brilliance of his Patronus. It is not affected in the slightest by any of the death in his mind in his magic in himself.

He lays down on the bed and the dog jumps up to join him, barking silently but with excitement. It does not affect the bed or the temperature but he swears he feels a presence filled with warmth beside him as he closes his eyes and begins to drift off to the quietness of sleep.

The wand thrums lamentations at the loss of magic on such a harmless, worthless spell and he cannot bring himself to care.

xXx

He wakes the next day without much of a care in the world. His trunk is packed and ready to leave to whichever house he is going to and Hedwig is ready to either stay with him or fly off.

The cloak is around his shoulders, hidden beneath his robe. It does not accept being in his bag any longer.

The wand is tucked into an inside pocket of his robe and it and the cloak hum to each other throughout the entire day.

But as he finishes dressing and heads down to the commons, people are panicking and wide-eyed.

He asks the nearest prefect and they begin to explain everything.

Cedric was fine, though three more minutes and he wouldn't have been. Amos Diggory absolutely exploded at Professor Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic for hurting his boy like that and having no safety measures other than teachers portkeying in to save them if they were even conscious enough to send up red sparks.

The Minister of Magic tried to throw Dumbledore under the bus, but the headmaster simply stepped aside and threw the man off of a cliff with sheer facts. About all of his safer ideas and how they had been turned down and all the Minister wanted was danger to get his appearance back up.

Cornelius Fudge had looked absolutely furious but as described by the prefect, Dumbledore was far past caring.

But there was a reporter that had gotten their way close enough and had manage to write down every word of what they were saying, and people were betting there'd be an 'emergency release' of the Daily Prophet today or tomorrow.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

No, that belonged solely to when Dumbledore had noticed his wand which had been in his pocket - had gone missing.

The prefect doesn't notice him tensing up and instead keeps talking, eyes wide and concentrated.

Somebody had stolen it but that was when Professor Dumbledore got an alert from some device in his pocket. The man had whirled away and people were only barely able to follow him as he ran back into the castle.

They went to his office, where they found Professor Moody ransacking everything in there.

The man had stared at them, wild-eyed, before grabbing a random object and turning it into a Portkey. He was out before Dumbledore could take another step forward, and everyone swears the retired Auror had had Dumbledore's wand in his hand when he managed to escape the office.

Everyone was reeling, no more so than Dumbledore himself. One of his closest friends stealing from him and then betraying him. It would hurt everyone an the man had spent the day inside his office.

But everyone was going to be sent home now and people don't really know what will happen after that, but they all hope everything will be okay. There was no way to hide the fact that world's most powerful wizard had just lost his wand to probably a spy of someone evil but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named surely wouldn't act up, right? Right?

He thanks the prefect and scurried off, a laugh shooting to his throat. He chokes it off before it hits the air.

Nobody knows it is him. He is free, and Dumbledore will never know that his prized student who looks up and respects him has stolen the most powerful wand in history. It is wonderful.

But what will happen now?

People stumble down to the entrance hall, carrying trunks and cages and shell shocked expressions. No one quite knows what to think as they wander through hallways with narrowed eyes.

But the food is still good and everyone eats aplenty. They head out to the train with careful chatter, clambering onto the scarlet engine. It is the last time for some students and the first for others and they find their compartment easily, climbing in with both happy in their faces and not.

It is a quiet ride back to the station, but he enjoys it nonetheless.

What he enjoys even more is that Uncle Vernon isn't there to pick him up but instead a clean shaven Sirius Black wearing comfortable muggle clothing and a mile-wide grin. He calls him over happily.

He goes over happily, and they both take hold of a thin pole of metal and portkey out of King's Cross.

They arrive at a garnish mansion perched on an island.

An entire island!

Sirius laughs at him gobsmacked expression and then starts to give him a tour, taking his trunk and cage and letting Hedwig fly free around them all. Waves of such brilliant blueness lap against the sandy beaches and birds fly overhead, chirping happily to each over the soft rustle of wind.

The house is wonderful as well and he has three rooms to himself, one to sleep in, one bathroom, and then one reading-eating room that has a floor-to-ceiling window that seems to light up the entire world.

Everyone is wonderful, and then Remus J. Lupin shows up with his own bags and everything is even more wonderful.

They live together in rather perfect harmony. Sure, Sirius has a pranking streak a mile wide and doesn't understand the quiet times he sometimes craves but he's also never been so far out of his introverted self and while he definitely couldn't do this year-round it's wonderful for the summer. He creates paint-bombs with a flick of the wand and never once uses it for anything destructive and its influence fades slightly from his mind, disappearing backward into shadowed darkness.

Of course, Remus is a werewolf. Bit surprising but he doesn't really care that much and the relief in the man's eyes is tangible.

Sirius is an animagus. It looks like a grim but it's not and with a laugh he conjures his Patronus and watches Sirius gloat about being his favourite for the next week, at the minimum. He spends a fair amount of time in his dog form and though they have to force him into baths every now and then it's nice to be reading quietly and slowly petting black fur underneath his fingers.

They live together in this quiet peace and he has never enjoyed anything so much over the past years.

But then again, all too soon, school comes again and he buys his books and waves goodbye to the island home and heads toward the castle of Hogwarts again.

The train sits there as usual and he catches up with Hermione and Ron with happiness bright in his eyes. They don't send messages very often, each off doing their own things, and they had no idea about where he was.

He enjoys telling them about each and every single prank he pulled on the two men, and smiles when they laugh. The ride is bumpy as they speed over the track but they take fun to balance Licorice Wands on their foreheads and try to get them not to fall off. Ron wins, though barely.

They both look rather confused at the heavy sweatshirt he is wearing and how he puts on his robes over it before taking it off, but they ignore it after a few looks. They're the best of friends, after all. They don't keep secrets.

The cloak and the wand hum next to his skin and his next smile gleams a bit too brightly to be real.

But they get through the journey and everything is going great. It's nice to catch up with Dean and Seamus again, and Neville is always a welcome face. He is slowly getting more and more comfortable in his own skin and while he's still a bit awkward and shuffling, he puts his own ideas in a conversation more and he's really smart.

He marks his fellow student down for help on his Herbology OWL after promising to help him on Potions and Transfiguration. He couldn't get better help if he went to Professor Sprout herself.

They clamber onto the carriages and slowly start to rumble off toward the castle again, talking of everything.

No one knows who the new History of Magic teacher, although everyone prays feverishly that it won't be Binns again. The ghost could charm a raging dragon to sleep with just one of his talks of goblin rebellions.

Literally everyone hates him and all are glad he's gone for \their OWL year, him and Hermione and Ron included.

So they walk into the Great Hall and try to scout out the competition.

Snape is still there, the bloody bat. But Lupin blushes and waves to the excited cheers of the students. He's their favourite, hands down. People love the shy quiet professor, and even though he knows the man is a werewolf it doesn't change anything. Actually, it makes more sense on why he knows so much about dark creatures.

But there, perched next to Professor McGonagall and Professor Sinistra, sits a hideous toad.

Actually, he retracts his statement. It's an insult to toads.

The woman has pursed lips and upturned eyebrows and a neck three sizes too big. Her robe is a disgrace to all robes in a shade of pale pink frilled with small ribbons that Dumbledore wouldn't even attempt to wear, and he's seen the man in electric blue hedged in bright gold edges.

She simpers as they all walk in, and students file to the back of the Great Hall. But it doesn't stop her for a second.

The first years arrive and the Hat begins to sing, though its song seems less cheerful this year. It hints toward unrest and mainly speaks of the problems of being divided in this school together.

But then the firsties are sorted and everyone begins to eat. Of course, the food is brilliant and wonderful. The food at the island with Sirius and Remus was good but nothing compares to this excellence.

As Dumbledore stands to speak, the toad interrupts him. It instantly puts everyone on edge.

You don't stop Dumbledore's speech.

She introduces herself as Dolores Umbridge, the new Professor of History of Magic, and then launches into a spheal that puts everyone's teeth on edge. It sounds pretty, of course, but it's not hard to read between the lines.

He doesn't catch everything of course, but Hermione lays it out to them once they're back in the safety of their commons. The Ministry of Magic, after the disaster that was the Triwizard Tournament, wants to have a closer eye on Hogwarts and, subsequently, Dumbledore himself.

The Minister had tried to lay the blame at Dumbledore's feet again but he carefully kicked it away. The public wanted blood so this was what they decided to do.

He would laugh if it wasn't happening.

But as he lays on his bed with the cloak under his pillow and the wand curled between his fingers, he almost smirks.

He'd like to see the toad try and come for him now.

xXx

The burst of courage he has fades away quickly and the dreams of that night are worse than he's had for a long while.

xXx

Her classes are hell on earth.

Mad-eye Moody - despite being a traitor and evil and 'stealing' Professor Dumbledore's wand - was at least _interesting_. Sure, his war stories were vile and went far too much in detail but they kept people awake and alert.

This woman decides to only cover pieces of history that put the Ministry in the best possible light.

Everything is either glossed over or completely ignored, with the latter being much more common.

It's like Binns all over again, and many students resign themselves to studying during her class and ignoring everything she says. It might be better, as they are well-used to that strategy, but it still would have been nice to actually have a competent teacher for once in their Hogwarts life.

Professor Snape is much the same, though he grills them harder and harder as the OWLs are that year. He takes the man's threats and mocking words with much more grace than he has before, a gentle smile on his face.

He is very aware of the wand pressing into his skin and does not care about what Snape says.

McGonagall ignores new spells and goes back over all of their old ones, reteaching movements and words and intent until they start to understand _why_ so many spells actually work.

It's brilliant and Hermione loves it, and while he learns more than ever before he does understand why she doesn't teach it to the new firsties. He's in fifth year and finding himself hard pressed to understand most of it.

Flitwick does much of the same thing, though new spells are peppered in every now and then.

The real problem comes when Umbridge shows up in one of their double Transfiguration lessons.

They stare at her, wide-eyed, as she stands in the corner armed with a clipboard and a smug expression.

Professor McGonagall walks in and the tension is thick enough to feel. But their professor shoves it away and teaches with a sharpness that has them all perfecting the spell near instantly and writing down notes with a sort of feverish fear. Umbridge leaves almost disappointed with very few notes on her clipboard.

Snape does much the same, though his eyes are narrowed in a fury everytime she so much as moves.

If the man wasn't as restrained as he is, the toad would be dead by the end of the week- no, day. The way she picks on him and asks about him teaching Potions when he wants Defense Against the Dark Arts is like poking an active volcano with several barrels of pure dynamite.

They avoid his path for many days after each of her investigations.

She's been upgraded to High Inquisitor and bustles in on a class at least twice a week. Teachers are on edge whenever she is even nearby and students learn quickly to flee from her path in order to keep a old on their house points and free times.

Dumbledore seems to be unaware of all of it but his eyes narrow as she walks past and he fingers his wand - his original wand, he knows, but the man tells people it is his substitute he used during the first wizarding world and the public loves him all the more for it.

Tensions are high and nerves are frazzled by the time the holidays finally roll over the school.

Most students flee Hogwarts like a building on fire. He spends most of his time either in the library, studying for OWLs, or locked in his room, speaking quietly with the cloak and the wand.

They demand he do it, so he does.

There is not much he can tell them but he tells them all he knows on the ring, speaking of the stories he's read and the research he's done. From what he can tell, it belonged to the Peverells, so perhaps it is their family crest that holds the final Deathly Hallow, though he has no idea where to find it.

A relic so ancient it is thought not to exist would be well hidden.

But they accept the answer and he spends more time studying under the watchful eye of Hermione, who is trying to do every subject to absolute perfection. He does not care about Divination and only needs to well on the main core subjects to have most of his career options open.

xXx

The holidays end and Umbridge starts to get cocky.

Decrees litter the walls outside of the Great Hall, each one saying some sort of bizarre rule that Umbridge makes up. No one knows how to fight back against her so they don't, but people actively rise up in arms once she posts one about limiting letters to avoid 'non-Ministry biased propaganda', or some bullshit like that.

Susan Bones threatens to send a message through her personal house elf to her aunt Amelia Bones, head of the DML, and Umbridge angrily takes it down.

And then posts one about space between female and male wizards at all time in the corridors.

Gay guys start openly making out in front of her, and when she changes it for males as well, girls rise to the uptake.

Eventually it gets to the point where she is docking thirty points, five for each couple, every time she walks down the hallway, and she takes that one down as well.

But nothing they do - only passive-aggressively, of course - makes her take down the others, and so they all suffer in not-so-silent silence about the endless waves of decrees she places against them.

If Cornelius Fudge wants any chance of surviving the next semester, he would take down this crazy lady, but he doesn't, and there are many people talking about forcing their parents not to vote for him.

But for the most part it doesn't affect him too much, at least until he makes a mistake.

She's had it out for him, he knows that. But the real truth of it comes one night as he lays in an alcove by the library, slowly reading through one more book about Transfigurations principles. It's Friday night so he doesn't have classes tomorrow and so he wants to get this last bit of studying in so he has tomorrow morning off before he tackles all of his essays and homework.

But the pillow beneath his back is so soothing and the light from outside gently trickles to dark and his eyes flicker shut.

He wakes to a stinging hex to his back.

He jerks awake only to see the smug face of Umbridge standing over him, brandishing a watch that shows it to be four minutes after his curfew ends.

She gives him three detentions and minus twenty points, which is harsh, extremely so. But there's no way he can fight so he just ducks his head, apologizes, and starts to put his books back.

There's definitely a disappointed expression on her face, like she wanted him to fight back. Well, he won't give her the satisfaction.

Unfair as it may be, he knows he'll only get much worse if he tries to get it better. So he doesn't bother and after getting clarification for when the detentions are and where they'll be held, he heads up to bed and collapses near instantly. Hermione gives him a dirty look in the morning but he explains and she softens.

Ron winces sympathetically but says at least it's over the weekend, though the one on Monday will suck. Two hours right before curfew.

He hopes it won't be as bad as Snape's, which is cleaning out his cauldrons or organizing his potion ingredients.

xXx

That night, he shows up five minutes early and gently knocks on her door. She lets him in and he's greeted with the sight of a desk, several sheets of parchment, and s single black quill.

Lines. He can do that, though with this hand already cramping from his essays. Though she only gave him a time instead of a sentence limit, so he can get away with doing it slower than normal.

He sits, she gives him the line - _I will obey rules_ , really? - and then he picks up the quill, accepts her saying that the quill is enchanted, and begins to write.

His hand burns.

The words carve themselves over his knuckles, bright red and weeping fiercely. Blood drips from their scorched surface.

He gapes up at her but she simply smiles back, a fire flickering bright behind her eyes in a way neither warm nor comforting. It burns with a madness he cannot understand.

So he ducks his head and painstakingly writes out the line, slowly down stupidly slow with the line _I'm just keeping my penmanship neat, ma'am_ on the tip of his tongue. But she says nothing and he leaves the detention.

And runs right to Hermione. He's not hiding this from her.

She casts a healing spell and drags him into his dorm, grabbing a container of Essence of murtlap to soak in. It helps so wonderfully but when she suggests going to a professor he stiffens.

Umbridge won't stop. He saw what was in her eyes and if he tells someone not only will he be under investigation, investigation that might find the wand, but she'll hit him twenty times harder for smaller reasons.

He reasons that it's only two more detentions and though she purses her lips, he explains some of his reasons and she accepts it, though the next morning the three of them talk about never getting a detention from her.

Not now, not ever, and definitely not when she's angry.

He goes to the next two detentions and gets healed after each one. Hermione looks angrier after each one but after they're done, he devotes all of his free time to avoiding the toad and doesn't get another detention. He even leaves the library twenty minutes earlier than he needs to to avoid something like that happening again.

Ron doesn't get any detentions after their little talk and Hermione is a professor's wet dream.

Sure, History of Magic is boring, but the class was boring before. With the research they do both in her class and out they hardly need the teacher standing in front of a classroom, blabbing on with words no one hears.

They'll make it through the year, and then he's free to go back to the island with Sirius and Remus where no one will bother him and then he can find the ring and everything will be perfect once again.

The real problem comes when she targets Remus.

xXx

He doesn't notice it at first, at least until rumors snap around the school and then everyone knows that Remus J. Lupin, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, is a werewolf.

She sits during dinner with a smug expression while whispers fire across tables and through students' every waking moment.

That night, he stands in the Gryffindor commons and calls everyone to attention. His eyes flare with brilliant anger and even though some of his fellow students are prejudiced against werewolves they listen to him.

Because no matter how much he is quiet and calm and sky, he is bolstered by two Deathly Hallows and has faced down a grim's eyes and won. A toad will not be the one to defeat those he loves.

That night, he uses the cloak and sneaks into Remus' room. The man is halfway through packing when he busts down the door and stops him.

Remus doesn't quite trust him but he barely manages to convince the man to stay just one more day. Just give him one chance to try and fix this.

He then contacts Sirius through his fire and makes a man. He has never seen the Azkaban convict look more furious, even when he was facing down with Peter Pettigrew with a Kiss-on-Sight order on him.

There is death in his eyes and he _loves it_.

The next day, people pass a new decree that states that half-breeds are not allowed to teach at Hogwarts.

Gryffindors vibrate with self-righteous fury as they eat their breakfast. Remus still does not show up but Umbridge stares over them with victory in her eyes.

He will make it defeat.

Breakfast ends but they do not move, pulling out books from their backs and moving their plates to begin to read. Not a single Gryffindor gets up from their table even as a five-minute warning alarm rings over the school.

(It takes the twins to hold Percy between them but eventually he gives in. Others who were on the fence follow his example)

Umbridge marches up with all the subtlety of a charging bear and demands to know what they are doing. He stands up, the spokesperson of Gryffindor, and says that they will not accept anyone other than Professor Lupin teaching them Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She gives him a week's detention.

He ignores her and sits back down, flipping to the next page of his book. People follow him.

They stay there and it seems the house elves are on their side because their plates disappear and several large platters of light snacks appear in intervals down the table, along with pitchers of water and pumpkin juice. A few people test it and glasses appear if you request for one, and they are happy.

One of the most surprising things is that when he looks over, he sees a small group of Ravenclaws - perhaps five - that are sitting at their table with a platter and pitcher for them. Books are laid out in front of them and they study with a kind of anger only visible in the white of their knuckles on the table.

They are on strike as well.

He makes a split second decision and makes everyone stand up from the table. Harnessing Hermione, Ron, and the twins, he pushes their two tables together, rearranges the seats, and they all sit together.

He doesn't know the Ravenclaws that well - he's pretty sure one of them is Cho Chang - but they all nod to each other as they settle back into their books and essays and watch the hours flick by.

Lunch comes and students stop dead in the doorway, staring at the two tables pushed together with the students that couldn't have left during the entire day. A few Gryffindors get up and talk to every coming in, explaining what they are doing and how they get food and how it's for Professor Lupin.

Groups leave at once and come back with their bookbags.

The Hufflepuff table appears next to the Ravenclaws, and then they all sit.

Eventually all of the students are in the room and he feels a small tap on his shoulder. He barely avoids jumping and looks over to see Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, and a few other Slytherins he doesn't know.

They don't talk but then the Slytherin table is slowly pushed over to join their mass of students.

A few bigots, mainly from Slytherin, sit in the corner. Food appears for them and they jeer angrily at the rest of the students but most ignore them.

Umbridge shows up and screams with rage.

But perhaps the best thing is when Remus peeks his head into the Great Hall and sees the students. Everyone instantly perks up and then he is being pulled over to sit with them near the center of the table, boxed in by students who happily talk and chatter with their Defense Professor.

He looks so happy.

The bell rings and the only people that leave are the bigots and the ones heading up to retrieve bookbags and essays. Lupin hesitantly leaves even though they attempt to make him stay, and he exists with a shy smile on his face.

Time flies.

Umbridge comes back to sit in the room with the rest of their teachers because a grand total of seven students are showing up for their classes. She fires off detentions and takes away points and though some of them flinch, they do not move. Again he stands and repeats what he said before.

She does not accept it, so they go back to their studies.

McGonagall looks proud.

That night, at dinner, the doors burst open and Sirius Black marches into the room in full-on fancy robes that glimmer with his Black Family Crest. He goes straight up to Umbridge and demands to know why she is allowed to make laws to discriminate against the beloved of the Lord of House Black.

Then he grabs Remus and kisses him straight across the mouth.

The man resurfaces with an insane blush of his cheeks but he doesn't try and stop it, and the students ooh with excitement.

Umbridge turns not red, but a delightful shade of putrid purple he thought only belonged to Uncle Vernon.

Sirius says he will bring the full force of the House of Black against her if she does not repeal the law.

And then he explodes the decree as he walks out of the Great Hall to the student's cheers.

The next day, Remus is teaching again.

xXx

He wakes up two days later in the middle of night with something sharp fighting its way through his chest.

The cloak shrieks something in his mind but he shoves it away, because something is happening that will result in death if he does not stop it.

So he throws the much-too-hot cloak over his shoulders and runs through the halls. His feet slam into the ground and his breath burns in his throat but still he runs on through the silent halls of Hogwarts.

He ends up outside of Remus' office.

The door is cracked.

He bursts into the room with his wand drawn to find Umbridge standing over a collapsed Remus, wand tight in her hand.

It is firing a dark green spells that causes shrieks to rip themselves from Remus' throats, muffled through the spell over his face.

He curses her.

There are no words, no specified movements, no particular spell that races to his mind. Magic surges through his mind, through his magic, through his soul.

It flares with a silver light he recognizes from his Patronus and throws her across the room.

Ropes spring out next, wrapping around her form despite her closed eyes and lack of consciousness.

He runs to the fire, screams for Sirius, and then goes over to Remus. He gets rid of the silencing spell over his head and helps to his feet, legs shaky. Sirius bursts through the fireplace with his wand drawn and eyes wild.

His eyes narrow in on Remus and then he runs forward, scooping both of them up in an enormous hug. Tears stain his robes but they don't know who they come from.

They spend the night like that, Sirius cursing Umbridge into unconsciousness when she wakes again. Light trickles into the room again before they even move from their huddled position on the ground.

Sirius files a report.

xXx

The next day, Umbridge is fired and sent to Azkaban for use of an Unforgivable Curse - The Cruciatus. She is dragged away with shrieks and promises of vengeance and no one believes her as Sirius sends her off with narrowed eyes and whipthin smiles.

He wonders how long it will be until she shows up dead in Azkaban as well as Pettigrew. Sirius' ghosts grow.

xXx

He takes his OWLs with some stance of stunned concentration, though he knows he did at least well. It might not be the perfection that Hermione wants, but he'll take it over failing any day.

At the end of the school year, he goes home with Sirius and Remus. He sits them on his bed and pulls out the cloak from around his shoulders and the wand from his pocket and tells them everything.

* * *

 **Hey guys! Here's my next chapter!**

 **No Voldemort, but some bonding with the wand and Sirius and Remus. I hope you guys like how I made everything turn out. I really like how this was focused more on his relationships with other people and not just the Hallows.**

 **Also, I think I made Umbridge enough of a bitch. Proud of that.**

 **But hey, how do you guys like my Wolfstar? Big-time shipper of it that's not going to die anytime soon and while it won't be a big focus on the plot I couldn't help but slip it in. Oops xD**

 **But yeah! Short AN today. Just please enjoy this chapter and tell me what you want for the next one!**

 **EDIT: Guys, I will give the story a rating if it becomes explicit. No need to worry.**

 **Anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


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